Petals and Ink
by C. M. Spinks
Summary: Modern (?) AU wherein Erik owns a flower shop and Christine is a tattoo artist. Previously intended to be a one shot, now an expanded fic that's largely conversation and a lot of fluff but also gets heavy and deals with darker thematic elements in the 2nd half
1. Chapter 1

Petals and Ink

((Phantom of the Opera Flowershop/Tattoo Artist AU inspired by this post: post/160715846363/loudlewdlyricalmiracle-genuinehyperbole))

C-

"You want a what?" I asked, incredulous. Meg sat in front of me, shrugging but smiling at me innocently. She _knew_ that didn't even sound like a word, didn't she? I gave her a look, one that I hoped read as 'explain _now_ ', and she giggled, tossing herself back on my couch.

"I want a tattoo of a bouquet of lilium lancifolium!" She repeated gleefully. "I want tiger lillies, you goof!"

"How am _I_ supposed to know the scientific name? You're the goof, here." I tsked at her. "How do _you_ know the name?"

"I looked it up to annoy you." She laughed as I rolled my eyes. She does so love to elicit my 'humorous reactions'. She's my favorite client, one that's grown to be something of a friend. She comes in every other month or so for a new tattoo or piercing, but she comes in every other day to visit and sometimes does so with coffee in hand.

"Well, I'm sorry to say I'm not really familiar with plants. I kind of have the complete opposite of a green thumb." I admitted, back to business. I'd hate to disappoint her with a terrible design, especially one forever on her body. I haven't had many complaints in my time here, but the few I have had.. Well, they convinced me I could never be too careful.

"Well, do some research! You always come up with my favorite designs, Chrissie! You're the _best_!" She pouted, waving her lashes all-too-effectively at me. I sighed and rubbed my head, but before I could answer out loud, she squealed. She knows when she has me pinned.

"Okay, but I'm charging you an inconvenience fee."

"Whaaaat?"

"Don't worry, it'll be counteracted by your 'frequent visitor' discount." I stuck my tongue out at her, and she laughed, reaching across the divide to give me a hug.

"That's why you're the beeeest! I gotta go, but really, Chris, thank you! I know you'll do a great job! See ya next weeeeeek!" And then she collected herself and her bags and swept out of the room with a happy wave of her hand. I never understand how she can have so much energy so late at night. Despite the nature of my work and the hours I normally pull, I always start to wind down around nine, but Meg always comes in close to midnight as perky as she might at noon.. She's a mystery to me, but she brings a spark to my life that I can't say I dislike.

I set myself to the fun task of cleaning up the shop for the night. It never takes long, but I always feel better if I finish that part before I get started on the _next_ day's tasks. When I'm done with that, I sat back down on the lounge couch, phone in hand to start researching.

They're a lovely flower, and there's lots of neat variations. I learn that the specific variation Meg requested is native to Asia, but I'm otherwise un-intrigued by the science and technical and historical aspects of it all. It's not that it's not interesting, just that I'm not interested. So I decided to focus on the visuals, and let that drive what research I might need.

Now, hours later, at two-thirty in the morning, I am disappointed with all the sketches I've come up with. I'm sad to say that I've always shied away from floral designs for the exact reason I gave to Meg, and the ones I have done were all by someone else's design. I only had to keep the lines steady, not decided where they go to begin with. What I'm ended up with is nowhere near my usual level of life and artistry.. and it won't be good enough for Meg.

Exhausted but unwilling to go home on that defeated note, I decide that my early tomorrow will be spent somewhere observing them in person. They seem like a fairly common flower, so any shop should do.. Scrolling through lists of names in my immediate area, I spot one that's only a few blocks from my apartment. Called 'Roses in Ribbons', the shop caters to very specific needs in bouquets, including but not limited to flower messages, corsages, wreaths, and even flower crowns. They also sometimes have live plants for sale and start kits for city gardens. After a moment of thought, I decide the cute-sounding shop is the one for me to start with, and set my alarm before heading home.

I groan awake in the morning, my alarm blaring right in my ear. I tend to roll over to my phone in my sleep, to get closer to the music, and it usually ends just like this. I silence the awful screeching and consider rolling over and going back to bed, but I slowly remember the _reason_ I set the alarm so goddamned early, and I perk up immediately.

Excitedly, I get dressed in a tank top and a skirt with leggings, my favorite ankle boots to tie it all together. Thankfully, I remembered to pack my bag with my sketchbook and pencils and erasers and even a snack last night, so I just grab it and head out, though I quickly turn around, realizing the sun hasn't even risen yet, and it's still cold out. I grab a red jacket that matches the flowers on my leggings, and head out a second time, this time fully prepared to take on the world.

It's a short jaunt down a couple streets to the shop, and I take in the early morning look at the city. It's not quite as dark as it is at, say, two or three in the morning, but the streetlights are starting to shut off, and all the neon lights of late-night businesses have long been out. It's just light enough that the whole world seems pale blue, and the quiet is peaceful. Even the crisp coldness of early spring adds to the sensation, rather than taking it away.

As I near the shop, the light turns kind of yellow, the sign that the sun is not far behind the horizon, and that the day is almost ready to really start. I think it'll be a good day.

I peer inside the shop, wondering if anyone's in already. I don't see anyone, but through the corner glass I can see the shop sign on the door with 'closed' pointed in. I smile and walk around to it, dipping inside. An old fashioned, actual real bell dings as I open the door and close it, instead of the electronic ones. It's cute.

The whole shop is cute, actually. The open floor, single room layout is all soft off-whites and muted, almost grayscale pastel colors, which makes the vibrant _green_ of the room practically explode with contrast. Similarly, all the brighter colors pop, but the lighter ones, the whiter ones, are not lost on the walls or shelves, even when they hang from the ceiling. As the sun rises, the room floods with warm light, and I forget, for a second, that this is a shop in the inner city and not part of some magical forest somewhere far away. It's so bright and happy and _alive_ and it makes me feel the same.

I let myself get lost in the feeling for a moment, until I remember what I came here for, exactly. Then my observation of the room turns pointed, searching the displays for Meg's flowers, the tiger lillies. There are lots of similar flowers, and lots of very different flowers, but I don't see those specific ones anywhere. I go back over sections, hoping I just missed them, but I don't see any the second time through, and I sigh.

Then I remember that this is a shop, not some botanical garden, and that there's probably someone here. I mean, they had to open up this morning, so they're here _somewhere_. I head to the counter, hoping to see them waiting there, but the shop is still empty besides me and all the plant life. There's a door behind the counter that I presumes goes to a back room, or maybe even leads to an upstairs apartment, as these old buildings sometimes do, and decide to wait out here. If there's an employee or attendant here, they're back there, and they'll have to come out sometime.

After ten minutes of waiting, I decide it's not worth it to linger at the counter anymore, and pull out my sketchbook to at least warm up my hand. I pick a bouquet that's romantically named 'there for you' that's comprised mostly of daffodils, and accented with lots of small greenery that I don't know the name of. It's cute! I start sketching, sitting on the floor with my face just inches from the flowers, losing myself in the drawing and the details.

I don't notice the passage of time until a ray of sunlight has stretched onto the corner of my paper, crawling over the top of a very loosely drawn flower. I blink, and take a look at my phone. It's been about forty minutes, and still no sign of the mystery employee who _must_ be here.

"That's odd." I mumble out loud, and then I hear a crash, the broken singing of glass and water.

I jump to my feet, hurrying around the shelf to the counter, sketchbook forgotten. A tall man is standing behind it now, body tensed up with shock, hands up but curled. "Are you okay?" I ask, before noticing he's wearing a mask that covers his whole face, except his eyes and his mouth. I blink a couple times, as does he. "S-sir?" I say, after a moment of strange silence. That seems to shock him.

"O-oh, yes- I didn't realize someone was here and then you spoke and I- well, I'm sure you can guess." He says, finally putting his hands down, looking at the floor. "Pardon me, if I frightened you."

"No, no, I'm sorry I startled _you_!" I exclaim. "I was just- I was drawing and I didn't realize you were out here, I mean, I knew _someone_ was here because the shop was open but I didn't know you were out _here_ or I'd have said something sooner, ah.." I ramble. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Just, ah, pardon me a moment. I need to try to salvage this.." He points at the floor, and though I can't see it, I assume there lays a ruined bouquet at his feet, decorated with shattered glass and spreading water. He dips down, disappearing as well.

"Yes, of course! Can I help in anyway?" I ask as I lean over the counter, watching his long, thin hands delicately pluck flowers by their stems from the mess.

"No, just, just stay there." He says, focusing on the flowers. I nod and pull away, blushing fiercely. It's all my fault, after all, that I startled the poor guy and ruined a vase and a set of flowers. I return to my sketchbook and my bag, and try to pick up all my eraser shavings, trying to leave him and his store alone as dignantly as possible. But, in that way they often do, the shavings jump and writhe under my hands, making more of a mess than intended.

It's my turn to jump when I hear a footstep directly behind me. I squeak, but thankfully I keep hold of the shavings I have managed to collect.  
"Oh, apologies! I- I didn't know where you'd gone!" He says, hands up again, in peace. ".. you weren't kidding about the drawing.." He murmurs, stooping down to look at my open sketches. Embarrassed, I start to reach for them, but he picks up the book first, engrossed in it. "These are not terribly inaccurate." He says.

"They're what?" I blink.

"A- apologies, I meant to say, you're drawings are very accurate. You almost have them perfectly captured." He smiles awkwardly, the edges of his mouth clipping behind the mask. "That is to say, I enjoy them. Your drawings, I mean." I blink again, and then I realize; he's complimenting my art.

"Oh, oh thank you. They're just warm up sketches, really, and not what I came here for, either.." I explain, still blushing a bit.

"What _did_ you come here for, then, miss..?"

"My name is Christine." I reply, sticking a hand out. Slowly, he takes my hand, shaking them once, firmly.

"I am called Erik." He says, mysteriously. "And your reason for coming?" He turns his head, his eyes focused on me.

"I need tiger lillies. My- my friend- a client, really, she wants a tiger lily design. I'm, well, I'm not very familiar with plants and google images was not as helpful as I hoped it would be, so I figured I'd do some live studies. So, uh, here I am." I smile pathetically, hoping that doesn't come off as weird. But god, how often have I gone to see dogs or animals or even _people_ for specific portraits and designs? Why do I feel so weird now? Is it because I spooked the guy, this mysterious Erik, who wears a mask? Is it him?

No, I decide, it's not him. He seems just as offput as I do, interested but nervous, and it's probably because of our shocking introduction to each other. The mask _does_ add to the oddity of the scenario, but it's also very, very intriguing.

"Tiger lillies, you said?"

"Yeah."

"That's interesting, because the vase I was bringing out for the daily display was primarily tiger lillies." He notes, smirking.

"Yeah. One heck of a coincidence." I chuckle. "I don't suppose I can buy those off you? I did also make you drop them.."

"If you wish. It would take me a moment to rearrange them.."

"That's fine! Actually, could I watch? It might give me some ideas.."

"Ah.." He thinks for a moment, sitting up straight. I do the same, suddenly aware of how much I was leaning forward as well. "If you wish." He nods, and then stands, offering a hand. I gather my things and take the offer, letting him pull me to my feet. God, he's a whole head and a half taller than me, and his hand, nearly twice the length of mine. Do I just have tiny hands? Am I small, or is he very, very tall?

I watch him retreat behind the counter, and notice how thin he is as well. What a strange character this florist is turning out to be. A mask, crazy tall and crazier thin. He disappears into the back, and I set my book and pencil down on the counter, and let my bag drop to the floor. Erik returns, a new vase in one hand, and the flowers gripped gently in the other. I notice, now, the distinct orange and dapple of the flowers, the starry shape they make, both open and closed. He sets them gently on the counter next to me and my book, then looks up, as if noticing _me_ for the first time.

"I- there's not much that's very interesting about this part."

"No, no, it's cool! I've never- never seen it done before." I shrug. "It would be cool to see you thinking while you do it."

"Ah. Should I explain my thoughts as I go?"

"If you want to. If not," I shrug again. ", don't, I guess." He nods, looking down at his hands and the flowers. He's quiet, thinking. For a moment, I wonder if he ever plans on moving again, he's so still and _breathless_ that he could be an incredibly lively statue of a person, rather than a living being himself.

But then he moves, picking out individual flowers by their stems, grasping them daintily by the very points of his fingers. He holds them in front of him at the level of his eyes, arranging five or six as a small bundle in his hand, then sets them in the vase, which already has an inch or so of water in the bottom. Then his hands dance out over the remaining twenty or so, choosing them one at a time, now, and setting them carefully, thoughtfully in the vase with the rest. He seems to be choosing the less leafy ones for the inside of the bouquet, and the shorter, less opened flowers for the outside, letting what leaves they have billow out from the lip of the vase.

Then, somewhat like a hairdresser might lightly pull or pat or pad someone's hair at the end, his fingers hover over the whole arrangement, elegantly pulling at this leaf or that, pushing a flower so that it angles a certain way, fastidiously cultivating a look of _perfection_. Erik looks at it from the left and the right, turns it around by the base, and then smiles.

It's a small smile, a delicate thing itself, but it speaks volumes of the satisfaction he's found in the completion of the arrangement. With something that's almost a sigh, he turns, again remembering or realizing that I'm still here. He clears his throat, pushing the vase toward me.

"What do you think?"

"It's.. perfect." I smile, looking at the fluffy floral majesty that was constructed right in front of me.

"So you enjoy it?"

"Oh, yes, very much. How much do I owe you? For this and the, the other vase?" I ask, looking back up at him. He blinks, and then looks away.

"It's free. You may have it." He says, pushing the vase again, stepping back this time.

"No, I insist on paying for it. It's a work of art! And it's a business.. Can't be giving away all your goods and services for free."

"Hardly." He scoffs. "I never give anything away. This is free. Or, perhaps, a trade, if you will."

"What do you mean?"

"I got to see your drawings. You may have this arrangement. Art for art." He explains, gesturing deftly, as though each curve of his fingers and bend of his wrist was meticulously practiced for this exact moment.

"That's still not fair. You got to _see_ my drawings. I'm getting to _keep_ your flowers." I counter him, eyebrow raised.

"And they will die, as all flowers do. Temporary beauty for temporary beauty. I think this is a fair trade." He counters back, crossing his arms and tilting his head back, daring me to continue.

"Well.. fine. But what about the broken vase? I still think I should pay for that. I haven't given you _anything_ for that, yet." I huff, conceding the first part. In turn, he nods, looking down and to the right, conceding.

"I will check the price for that vase, and we can bargain that out as well." He says, heading toward the back. But I grin, and tear the page out of my sketchbook, signing it hurriedly with a heart, and drop a twenty on the page before snatching the vase and running out. The bell of the door dings cheerfully, victoriously, and I disappear, just as victorious.

E-

"I can't find a price for that specific vase, as it is an older one, but a comparable one is priced at ten-" I stop talking as I realise the girl- Christine- is gone. I look about the shop, but she's not hiding amongst any of the shelves or hanging feeders. She's gone. I didn't even hear the bell, I was so engrossed in finding a less expensive vase to 'sell' her. And on the counter is the page of drawings and a twenty dollar bill. I blink, not used to being tricked, and sigh.

I take the twenty in one hand and the page in my other, noticing the slight smudge that's appeared since I saw it just ten minutes ago. Oh, she signed it, quickly, almost illegibly. And there at the corner, is that.. a heart?

I feel my face heat up under the mask, reeling at the thought of it. A heart, for me? How.. sweet of her. What a strange girl she is, though I suppose I am one to talk, being the one wearing a _mask_.

I tuck the twenty in the drawer, and hold the paper by its edges as I return to the back. What a strange girl, and what a strange day this is. Why, if Darius hadn't called ahead to say he'd be late this morning, I would have remained in the back, composing my orders for the day, lost in music and floral design, and would never have met this most charming person and received this surprise gift..

I pin the drawing to my order board, noting the lines and the way they flow, light to heavy around the curves, airy in general, and how they come so _close_ to capturing the life of the daffodils she's been studying. I wonder, as I collect my tools for the day, if I will ever see the strange girl again.

C-

Three days later, my tiger lillies are dying in their vase, probably because I didn't take any care instructions from Erik when I ran away _so_ sneakily. But my drawings are better, almost ready for a proper design stage. Except there's something missing. I keep starting to pull together thoughts for designs, only to feel that the lilies alone are not enough. But I don't know enough about floral accents to make what feels like an informed design choice. I know it doesn't matter that much to Meg in this matter, it just needs to look pretty, at least in the first round of designs, but I never feel right approaching something I'm not knowledgeable about with reckless abandon. If I do something, I need to _know_ I'm doing it right.

And, like last time, the internet is informative, but it lacks the spark I feel I'm missing for this project. And, like last time, I really want to get a live look at whatever plant I might use anyway..

I feel both excited and nervous to return to Roses in Ribbons this afternoon, to possibly see Erik again and be confronted about my little scandal. But it's the most exciting thing that's happened in weeks, besides Meg breaking up with her boyfriend in our lobby that one time. Nothing can really top that.

I pull out a blouse this time, and my favorite blue jeans, paired once more with my favorite little boots. It's a comfy get up, but part of me hopes that Erik likes it. I'm not sure why that part keeps popping up in my head as I observe myself in the mirror, but it does. Maybe it's that he's mysterious and interesting, and I want to know a little more about him, and it generally helps to know people if they like you. Or maybe it's that I'm hoping if I look cute enough, he won't be mad about me running out like I did. I'm not sure.

I head over, a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. The sun is high and everything seems as cheery as I feel. But my good mood sinks when I see not Erik behind the counter, but a younger boy, a teenager. He cleans the counter with a whistle, and lacks all the strange, refined and restrained grace that Erik possessed, but he looks up at the entrance bell and waves.

"Hi there, welcome to Roses in Ribbons, or R+R, as I call it. How can I help you today? You here for a pickup?" He greets me as I walk up to the counter, clutching my bag. I notice his name tag says 'Darius'.

"No, actually. I, uh, I guess I'm a walk-in." I joke, feeling awkward and disappointed.

"No problem! What can I help you with?" He offers cheerfully, smiling at the attempt at humor.

"Well, you see, I was in here the other day and I got some tiger lilies, for an art project, but now I want to know what I should pair them with, if anything."

"The other day? I don't remember seeing you." He remarks.

"Yeah, there was this other guy, uh, he said his name was Erik?"

"Oh." Darius says. "Okay." He nods, seeming disturbed.

"Yeah, I was kinda hoping he was here. Do you.. know if he's in?" I ask, hope returning despite the mildly uncomfortable look on his face.

"Uh, he's, he doesn't normally come.. out here. I- he owns the shop but he's a kinda really shy guy, and he's usually done for the day by now.." Darius shrugs, fiddling with the rag in his hand.

"Oh. So I guess you take care of the front service, and he does all the flowery stuff."

"Yeah, something like that. My uncle owns the building. I work the front end and do a lot of the labor, and Mr. Erik owns and runs the shop. It's some deal they got worked out between the two of them." He nods, some of the levity back in his voice.

"Nice." I remark, but then I'm at a loss for what to say, tapping my bag with one hand. "..well, if you could just, take a note to him for later?"

"Oh, yeah, I can definitely do that. You were asking about tiger lillies? You want to make an order?"

"Yeah, actually. Same as last time, but.. With accents, I guess."

"What kind of accents?"

"I.. don't know. That's what I was hoping to ask him today.." I laugh, embarrassed. This is like fairy tale going sour.. Darius stops his writing, and bites his lip in thought.

"Mr. Erik doesn't like being bothered usually, but I think.. He'd make an acception for this. I'm gonna go see if he's still here, alright? Don't go anywhere." He says, and dips into the back. It's quiet in the shop, no one else here apparently, but not for long. I hear shuffling upstairs, maybe a stomp, and then something audibly moves from the center of the room upstairs to the back corner, and then down an unseen set of stairs. But the door- it flings opens, and there stands Erik, taking up all the space of the doorframe.

"It's you." He says, surprised.

"You're here!" I say, equally surprised. "Sorry for running away like I did last time, I thought I was being clever, aha.." I explain, flushing suddenly. I have no idea how he'll respond.

"Well, you certainly caught me unawares, so I would say you were very clever. But don't think you can run away so easily again." He says after a moment, walking out into the room, leaning over the counter. "Now, what's this about accents?"

"Remember my art project? It's kind of empty right now. I don't know what to put with the tiger lillies, and I'd rather not make something up and it have.. some weird or rude and unintended meaning." I explain, Erik nodding.

"What kind of message are you going for?"

"I don't know. My client didn't specify what she wanted the tiger lillies for, either. I'm completely lost."

"Well, then.." And then Erik launches into a small but concise lecture about the flowers themselves, the care and keeping of them, their history, their medical use and even their spiritual meaning and floral linguistic meaning. It might be overwhelming, if he didn't talk so smoothly and easily, composed and clear at all times. He also shows me several options of common flowers and greeneries that pair well with tiger lillies both visually and in meaning, and advises me to talk to Meg before getting too invested in my design choices. "Any questions?"

"Uh, no. That was really.. really cool. I wish I knew that much about things.." I grin, truly impressed.

"Well, now you know 'that much' about tiger lillies. And I am certain you have interests and passions of your own-" He stops, eyes wandering to my arm. "Is that a tattoo?" He points, to my right arm, where indeed a band of ink runs around the biceps and triceps.

"Yeah. Wouldn't be much of a tattoo artist if I didn't have a little ink myself, would I?" I joke. I'm pretty mild for the public image of a tattoo artist, it's true, but the ones I do have are very important to me, and not very small. Erik doesn't laugh at the joke, seeming fixated on the tattoo itself, rather than anything connected to it. "What is it?"

"Are those amaryllis?"

"Yeah. They were my mom and dad's favorite. When.. when dad passed, I got them. So I would remember how strong they made me." I explain. Sometimes people get.. weird if your tattoos don't mean anything, and sometimes they get weird about them even if they do. Personally, I don't care if it's as simple as just wanting the image on your skin because it's pretty or having a great symbolic or spiritual connection to the image. But some people.. "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Wh- Oh, oh no. I just- I don't think I expected you, s-someone _like_ you to have such a.." He gestures to my arm, words failing.

"What? A tattoo?" He nods. "Why? Is it because I'm a woman? Or am I not 'metal' enough of a lady to have tattoos? Does it ruin your idea of my femininity? Or am I less of a person because I've ruined the skin God gave me?" I question him, bitterness seeping in as I go. Erik stands, backing up, hands up in defense once again.

"No, no! Nothing like- I would never-" His hands go to his mask, adjusting it, despite it seeming perfectly straight to me. "I just.. Didn't expect it. Not for any reason. I am.. I deeply apologise if I offended you. I had no assumptions."

"Oh. Sorry, then, for.. freaking out." I blush. Sometimes I get a bit heavy like that. Sometimes it's deserved, but not this time, it seems.

"It sounds like you've had problems before.."

"Yeah.. There's a lot of picky people out there. Think their way of thinking is the 'right' way, the 'only' way. You wouldn't believe the boyfriends I've had break up with me over something silly like this. But I shouldn't have snapped. I didn't know what you were thinking and I just pounced. Sorry, really."

"It's all forgiven. You were saying, about the amaryllis?" He asks, apparently having missed my explanation the first time. I smile.

"My parents favorite flowers. I got them in memory of my parents, after my dad died."

"It's.. relatively new."

"Yeah, only a couple of years now."

"I apologise. For asking." He says, looking away, rubbing his hands together.

"Nah, you couldn't've known. No worries. I should.. I should go. Thanks for all your help today, and, and the other day too."

"Of course." He replies, but he moves forward as I step back, until the counter and display halt him. "Feel.. feel free to come back, if you have any more.. projects." He tries to smile, but he seems uncomfortable, pressed against the counter.

"Yeah. Yeah, I will. Thanks. Have a nice day." I wave, giving a little 'peace out' as I turn and walk out. The bell doesn't seem so triumphant today.

E-

"And you as well.." I mumble, too late. I watch her go, out the door and around the corner, until the glass runs out, and she's gone. I had _not_ intended to make her so uncomfortable. I'm, truthfully, not sure _what_ intended, but it was not that. I sink against the countertop, suddenly unsure what I hoped of _any_ of that.

"She's really cute." Darius says, appearing at my side.

"I beg your pardon?" I ask, turning.

"Well, she's cute. You know, for an older lady."

"Just because she is not a teenager does not make her 'old'. She's.. probably in her twenties, maybe thirties."

"Everything older than me seems old to me." He shrugs, and I roll my eyes in exasperation.

"And everything younger than you seems childish, I assume?"

"Yeah, actually. What's up with her, anyway?"

"I.. hit a sore spot, I believe. She talked of her parents' passing.. I may have said something inappropriate."

"Inappropriate? Like _what_?"

"Like mentioning her dead parents are _freshly_ dead."

"Oooh. Yeah. Not- not appropriate." He inhales sharply. "But, hey, you told her she could come back, right? Maybe she will and you can say you're sorry."

"I doubt it." I sigh, and walk past the boy towards the back room. I'm finished with my orders for the day, but I hesitate at the board anyway, where her flower sketches are still pinned up exactly where I left them. I sigh again and head back up the stairs. I doubt she'll return. I can dream, though.. and maybe make it up to her. I boot up the ancient computer upstairs, and begin my search for one 'Christine Daae'...

C-

Meg is ecstatic with the designs I present her as well as the small infomercial I give her about meanings, as engrossed in my telling of it as I was in hearing it myself.

"I really like this one," She says, pointing to a wreath of tiger lillies and soft pink bouvardias. "I think it'd look really good on the back of my neck, you think?"

"Yeah!" I agree, not because I actually agree, but because she already seems set on the placement. I'm sure it _will_ look really good there, of course, I'm just not personally invested in it either way.

"Where'd you learn all this cool shit anyway?" She asks, sipping her tea. I tap my pencil on my forehead with a wink.

"I have my ways.." I tell her coyly.

"Oh come oooon! You've _got_ to tell me!"

"Please, Meg, the internet is a very powerful tool. You can learn anything if you know where to go. You found the scientific name all by yourself, remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't really have to go far to find it. Wikipedia, baby. You were all.. organized and informed!"

"Well, you can get organized and informed things on the internet, too. But you're right in this case. I found someone who knew a lot. Even got a free bouquet out of it, though kind of on accident."

"No way, that's neat! Your drawings were _very_ inspired, you know. That's how I really knew." She winks at me, but I'm not sure I understand.

"What do you mean?"

"You always do your best work when you get, like, really invested in something, even if it's not necessarily the project at hand. You've never noticed? When you did my starfish you had that, uh, that video game-"

"Breath of the wild."

"-and you told me all about it while you did inked it and how pretty it was and how fun and thoughtful it was. And then when I got my fire arrow, you had that book you loved, and basically for all my favorite tattoos, you had something you were really _into_ when you did them. But this time around you got into a _person_." She smiles knowingly, but I just blush, fussing.

"That's not _true_. I've met them twice, _twice_ , and our last conversation was.. awkward."

"Awkward how? Are they hot? Do you think they're out of your league?"

"I don't actually know what his face looks like, but the rest of him is pret- and, well, yeah, he's probably got some Ph.D. girl, and- w-wait a minute, no. I'm not, not _interested_ in him."

"Come on, girl. You just babbled about him. You're _kinda_ into him."

"No, I'm really not. He's just.. mysterious. I'm not, like.." I want to argue, but I realize that I'd be lying. I _am_ pretty interested in him, on the grounds that he's interesting and mysterious and knowledgeable and odd. "Not again." I groan.

"Maybe this one'll stick around!" Meg suggests emphatically, really hopeful.

"I kinda left in a huff.. you know, from that awkward conversation?"

"Well, what was awkward?" I don't know how to put in words, but my left hand finds it's way to my upper arm, where my flowers sit in mourning. "Oh. Yeah, awkward. Well.. go back. Or, uh, call him! Text him?"

"He said to 'feel free' to come back if I had more questions.. but I can't show up on that premise and then just.. not actually have a question." I object. I'd like to go, like to see him, maybe make things less awkward, but _I am awkward_. At least about this!

"Ask him about roses~" Meg purrs.

"Oh, please. We're not four year olds. That's, that's so obvious and cheesy." I blush anyway. Imagine if I had the confidence to rock that? To go in and ask for Erik by name, to have him come down the stairs, for me especially, and to ask him to talk about roses. What would he say? Would he bluster? Would he understand the blatant subtext? Would it be too much? Am I being too assumptive? "Besides, we've still only talked twice. There's.. there's no telling what he even thinks of me, anyway."

"Yeah, but you've got it bad. You'll figure something out." She puts a fist out, beaming. I sigh and give her a bump.

"I'll figure something out." I agree. Just then, Andre walks into the lounge, knocking on the doorway.

"Hey, Christine?"

"Yeah?"

"You've got a delivery." He points to the office. "Thought it was a wrong address at first, but it's got your name on it." He explains, his mustache bobbing as he talks.

"Thanks. I'll be in to grab it in a moment." He nods and leaves.

"Well, I guess we should talk about an appointment to get this wreath done, huh? How's next tuesday at two?" Meg asks, looking at her phone, presumably her calendar. I pull out my own to check.

"Sounds good, I'm free the rest of that evening." I nod, typing in her details

"Then I will see you then, girl. I expect an update then, too." She winks and pats my head, as if I'm a child who needs to tell her mother all the gossip.

"See you." I show her out, and then head to the office. I don't see any boxes or envelopes, but a rose in a vase on the desk. There's a small card tied close to the base of the flower with a black ribbon, and sure enough my full name is written on it in careful, swooping cursive on one side. There's nothing but a heart on the other side, but I know who it's from. Who else could it be?

I blush and smile, taking a gentle sniff of the flower. It's sweet, and the petals are soft on my nose, and tickly too.

I think I have some questions about roses after all..


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2:

 **((I had a silly dream after I wrote the first part about what happens next but I wouldn't have continued if I hadn't gotten such nice reviews asking for more. so, you asked, and now you receive! hope you like it as much the second time around))**

C-

Days pass in a blur of work- I can't believe I have two to five appointments each day this week!- but the flower shop and Erik are never far from my mind, the rose sitting in it's opaque black vase in my corner of the parlor. It survives much longer than the tiger lillies did, probably because of some magical life nectar Erik put in it, and I am grateful to see it bloom from something little more than a bud to a wide open, utterly perfect rose over the course of a week, rather than two days. It only grows brighter red as it opens, brilliant and lovely.

Finally, my last appointment for the day wraps up, a seahorse with it's tail wrapped around a giant pearl that stretches down half the clients back, and I am exhausted but excited. I kept meaning to call ahead to Roses in Ribbons, but I got backed up and forgot… so now it'll just be a surprise visit! I don't want to wait anymore.

I am a little worried, though, since it's so late in the afternoon by normal people hours, and Darius _did_ say that Erik usually left or something by the time I got there last time, which was a couple hours before noon, and now it's nearly dinner time.. But something in my heart tells me to go now rather than wait til tomorrow, so I clean up my station and my tools and myself, making sure my face is clear of ink and my jeans don't have any fresh stains, and head out. I took my bike to work today, as I was in a bit of a rush this morning, and I am grateful now that I don't have to walk the six blocks to my house as well as the three to the shop itself. It's a lovely day for a bike ride, too, with the sun starting to head towards the west horizon, the city cooling down just before the night heats up.. I find myself humming happily as I feel the wind in my hair even through my helmet.

I lock my bike up to a conveniently located bike rack across the street and skip over. I am surprised to find there are several people in the shop, talking either to each other or to Darius, who seems not the least bit overwhelmed by all the commotion. He even manages to call to me as I enter, saying, 'Be with you in a moment!', even though I'm sure he didn't see it was me. But, feeling a bit overwhelmed myself, suddenly shy, I find an empty place between two shelves and try to get myself interested in the flowers there. Several minutes pass before Darius makes his way to me, gasping happily when he recognizes me.

"Hey, you're back! Did you get the flower?" He asks, excited and curious.

"I did. It was a wonderful surprise. It's kinda what brought me back. Is.. he in today?"

"He is, but we've been so busy he's not really.. on-call, I guess you could say. If you don't mind waiting until it dies down a bit in here, I would love to go grab him, I'm- I'm sure he'd love to see you too." Darius explains, gesturing over his shoulder at the small crowd that circles in and out of the shop. "It usually starts to quiet down just before dinner time."

"Yeah, sure! I can wait. Free the rest of the day." I nod, hardly trying to hide my own excitement.

"Awesome! See you in a bit, then." He waves, and returns to the other customers. I reinvest myself in the flowers, though I really just start to daydream and wonder.. what'll happen now? I've never been particularly flirtatious or anything. I don't even really know for sure if Erik meant it in the way that I'm hoping, in a romantic, flirtatious invitation to return.. But then again, he's the flower guy, _he_ would know the connotation that _red roses_ carry. Surely, then…? But what if he assumed that, being the pedestrian I am, I wouldn't know that, or something, and assumed I would just appreciate the flower as a flower with no other meaning to it? Am I reading into this too much?

I grow more and more nervous as time passes, until the sunlight piercing through the shop is a bright and wicked orange, and the shadows are long and dark and blue. I find a couple of chairs in the back of the store and hide myself away there, trying to relax. Even if I completely misinterpreted his intentions, _he_ doesn't need to know that. I can just.. gauge his reaction to my being here, and go from there. Yeah. Yeah! Just because I've got the tiniest, ittiest, bittiest crush on the guy, doesn't mean my life is over if he doesn't feel the same way! I've had worse scenarios! I can survive this!

My internal pep talk manages to calm me down a little, at least feeling like I have a 'plan' now, and I relax against the chair.

Everything will be all alright…

"Excuse me..? Ah, Christine?" I jump at the sound of the voice, suddenly awake. I hadn't even realized I was drifting off, let alone fully asleep! I rub my eyes, begging them to focus. I look up to see Erik standing over me, curiously eying me. I jump to my feet.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I did _not_ mean to fall asleep- I just had a really busy week and I guess I should've slept or something first but I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I was ignoring you so I came as soon as I could which was right now today-" I blurt out, straightening myself and my clothes and everything out, feeling incredibly silly for having fallen asleep in a public place, let alone in _this_ situation.

"You're fine!" Erik blurts out, hands out as though he's trying to still my chaotic movement. I do slow down, forcing myself to. "It _is_ late.."

"Wh-what time is it?"

"I believe it is just after seven." Erik replies, looking at his wrist, presumably for a watch, but there isn't one. "Darius said we were much busier than expected today. I apologise for the wait.." He rubs his hands together, looking away. He's just as nervous as I am… goodness.

"It's fine. I did come over unexpectedly." Erik nods at that.

"I didn't think you were coming back."

"I'm sorry, I really did want to come sooner, and I couldn't call because-"

"Oh, no, pardon me, I assumed from the _beginning_ you wouldn't be coming back. The- The rose was something of a farewell. I thought- I presumed I was too.. impolite with what I said, and so it was an apology as well."

"Oh." I say. "I didn't mean to make you think that. I really did have every intention of coming back."

"Truly?" He smiles, perking up. "I am glad to see you again. I hoped I would get to apologise in person for my behavior, to not end on that note."

"You don't have to apologise! I- I'm just oversensitive." I shrug.

"Nonsense. If it matters to you, it matters to you. I may not have known, but my ignorance does not invalidate the way you felt, or feel about it, or make if fair of me to wantonly insult you without caring for consequences."

"I.. guess so. It's nice of you to care, though." I feel myself blush a little, my cheeks reddening.

"Certainly. Now.. was there something particular you came for?"

"No. I just, uh.." I want to say it, I want to just say it, but _can_ I? "I just wanted to see you again." Did I just say that? Did I really? Oh my gosh!

"Me?" He nearly squeaks, dumbfounded. He clears his throat, stepping away, straightening himself out. "Me?" He repeats.

"Yeah. You're.. cool. And…" Here, I'm at a loss for words. What did I think I wanted? What did I hope for out of this? "Just wanted to know if you thought the same. I guess."

"Do I think you're 'cool'?" He reiterates, slowly, like pulling puzzles pieces together, but they're all different colors and none of the shapes match up.

"Yes! No- no, I mean-" I put a hand to my face. "I'm really bad at this.." I whine, blustering. I feel my face heat up even worse.

"I do."

"What?"

"I do think you're 'cool'. I'm afraid I don't use the word itself very much, but I believe the, the meaning of the word is one I would, and do, attribute to you. Th-that is, I enjoy your company. You are.. interesting."

"You think so?"

"You are the most interesting thing to walk through my doors since I did nearly twenty years ago." Erik says confidently, pointing to the door with an upward tilt of his head. I can see a faint smile grow wider, and I can feel myself smiling in return.

"Awesome.. I- I mean, thank you."

"Did you have anything in mind when you came over?" He asks, gesturing to the shop, but I sigh, chuckling at myself.

"No, actually. I wasn't sure I'd get this far." I lace my hands together, nervous again, though not nearly as much as before. Erik turns his head in thought, arms behind his back like a proper businessman.

"I'm sad to say I don't have any suggestions myself. I do not.. _do_ much."

"Well, what do you do?" He thinks for a moment after that, like he's not entirely sure himself.

" I make my arrangements in the morning. Read, when it's quiet in the evenings. Play music, from time to time, I write.."

"Really? What do you play?"

"I adore the violin, but I have dabbled in a little of everything, once upon a time." He speaks wistfully, wrapped in memories until he looks down at me. "Do you have any instruments? Do you care for music, at all?"

"Oh yeah! I mean, no to playing, myself. My parents were both musicians so I'm.. I used to be really interested in everything they did. My hands weren't made for music, though. Can't strum, can't pluck, can't even drum. But paper and pencil? Ink and skin? I've got that. They were happy I just found something I loved.." I flex my hand, feeling the strength there, remembering every time I set myself to a project and felt complete. "I still love to listen to music, of course, especially when I work. It brings family back into the everyday."

"Marvelous. You said, last time, that you were a tattoo artist, yes?"

"That's right."

"I cannot imagine what that must be like. Very close, very.. intimate. I am a.. distant person by nature, so I respect the ability to.. do that. Be close."

"Sometimes it can be pretty intimate, and in more ways than one. One of my best friends is someone who was originally just a client. She's the one I came _here_ for, actually."

"I shall have to thank her, then." Erik says with a soft clap of his hands, like he's ready to get to work.

"What for?"

"For introducing us, of course. Like I said, you are the most interesting person I've met in a long while. I am grateful to have met you."

"Wow." I blush. I'm used to receiving compliments on my art and my tattoos, maybe even my outfit or my hair, but not on the _whole_ of me. I'm not entirely sure how to respond.

"Have I perhaps misspoken again?" Erik turns, concerned.

"What? No, no, I'm just- you're awful sweet and I- it caught me unaware. And I'm.. really awkward. Unsure of myself in general. It's been a while since anyone was interested in me, or I was interested in anyone else, either. Since before.." I stop, remembering, making myself blue. I put my hand to the flowers on my arm, trying to feel stronger, but it just makes me miss them even more. "Yeah, it's just been a while."

"Would it comfort you to know I have never had interest taken in me? And that I have never had interest in anyone before?" Erik asks slowly, cautiously. I look up from the floor, to find his gaze on me, and though it's focused, very focused on me, it feels.. non-confrontational, gentle, simply curious, and maybe even a bit afraid. The fingers of his right hand fiddle with a ring on his left. "I am unused to speaking with new people, especially those as.. fascinating as you are."

"I don't really think I am. I'm.. I guess my job is really interesting. It can lead me to do or see some fun and weird stuff, but.. it's not nearly as interesting as you are, Mister Mystery. You're all.. refined and elegant and you own this beautiful shop and you know so much and.. I don't know. It's so neat."

"That's one word for it, I suppose." He chuckles. Suddenly, my stomach growls and I blush, feeling practically neon with embarrassment again. "I didn't think I'd kept you that long. I apologise, Christine.."

"No, no, it's not your fault! I actually don't think I ate lunch today. It was a busy day and I was on a roll so.. Yeah, I don't think I ate since breakfast." I sigh, disappointed in myself. It's been a long time problem of mine, and even my dad before me, of getting too wrapped up in some project to take proper care of ourselves. Erik seems taken back, but not too surprised. "I guess I should go.. take care of that, then. Got an early day tomorrow, too, and I'm sure you do too." I snap a finger, pointing, trying to bring back the levity we had just a moment ago.

"Ah, yes. I do take the time to set up first thing in the morning, though usually Darius takes over before we open.. And it _is_ important to eat." He states, moving behind the counter, like a physical construct of the awkwardness suddenly between us again.

"Yeah." I notice, for the first time, how dark it's gotten out, even here in the shop, where there's electric lights overhead, it seems dim. Not quite to the point of lifelessness, but certainly not as bright and happy as it was earlier, even when it was painted in orange light and blue shadow. We're dressed in softer whites and greys, the old bulbs making everything a bit flatter. Outside, the world is heavy with blacks and blues and harsh yellows from street lights. "It was really nice to talk again, though. Maybe.. I can come by again?" I hope, I really hope I'm not presuming too much, not reading things wrong, but he said as much himself that he's interested in me. Maybe he hasn't clarified what kind of interested, but hey, it's a start.

"Yes, please do. I would like that very much."

"Maybe we could grab dinner somewhere..?" I suggest. That's classy, right? Classy enough for a guy like this?

"I, ah, don't tend to eat _out_. On account of.. a few things." He says, tapping the mask.

"Oh, of course- I didn't think before I- I'm so sorry, I _forgot_ \- I didn't realize, I-" I groan, burying my face in my hands. Of course, he wears a mask, he doesn't want to be _seen_ _out_ , why am I so _dense_.

"No, it's perfectly fine. I am- Perhaps instead we could have a dinner here? I have the upstairs residential, we could.. If that's not too impertinent, or inappropriate.."

"No, that would be great! I'd love to hang out again. I don't know when I'll be free again but.. I could text you?"

"I do not have a cellular phone, unfortunately. I have a landline, but it does not receive text communication. Would an email suffice?" He offers, but I see his ears redden. Is he embarrassed? _That's so cute though_

"Yes, perfect. I've got my email on my phone, too, so you can message me any time." He relaxes, then, confirming my earlier thought, but I wonder if he knows that he's only growing more interesting by the second..

"Good. Here, let me write mine down for you.." He pulls out a piece of paper from the back counter, by a dusty old printer, and quickly but easily writes out a long address. He hands the slip of paper to me. "I look forward to your email."

"Same." I smile. "I mean- yeah, I'll message you tonight! Thanks."

"You are most welcome. Shall I.. see you to the door?" He motions to the front door again, leaning towards the stable-style swing door that separates the behind the counter from the rest of the shop.

"It's probably a good idea to lock it behind me, yeah." I reply as he comes around again, leading me to the front, even though I know perfectly well where it is. He opens the door, holding it for me.

"Before you go, could I perhaps ask something?" He asks, a hand out as though to catch me, but he hesitates.

"Sure."

"Did you enjoy it? The rose?"

"I did. I have it in the parlor where I work. I'll be sad when it dies." I admit. It hasn't started to droop yet, but flowers don't last forever, even with whatever magic Erik put into it to make it last this long..

"I will have to find you another, then. Until next time, Christine.." He gives a dip of his head, closing his eyes gently.

"Until next time, Erik.." I do the same, hesitating before I walk out into the dark and neon cityscape, away from the pastels and the greens and the daring yellow of his eyes. I trot across the street, fumbling with my bike lock, and when I turn to put on my helmet and wave goodbye, he's no longer at the door, apparently no longer even on the first floor. It hits me that I asked him, essentially, on a date, after talking to him three different times, today included. Me!

I have a date. With a really cool, and really mysterious guy. I have a date! I squeal with delight as I hop up on my bike and start to pedal away.

E-

I watch from my upstairs window as she beams and cycles off into the night, remembering to first turn on a headlight. I feel myself smile as she goes, but then I pull away from the glass, letting the curtain fall.

What on earth am I doing? I can't really think this will turn out well, can I? I suppose it has so far, but.. nothing ever stays that way for me. I can't bring myself to regret allowing her into my life, though, not yet. Perhaps she'll grow bored of me and move on in her own time, and I will be able to hold on to what pleasant memories we share in the meantime. Yes, this is a temporary thing. It won't last. I will enjoy it while it lasts, and let it end when it comes time.

Even so.. I am eager to speak with her. I am not sure what it is about her that draws me so, but I am.. _so_ drawn to her. There's something familiar about her, something in her I recognize, but I cannot name it. She's also so _new_ , so different, so strange and foreign, and that is alluring in its own way. In tandem, these things make her irresistible, or nearly. I suppose I'm just weak for not restraining myself, for not pulling myself back when I know, I _know_ this can only end poorly for me. I am consciously making a mistake in inviting her in, both literally and figuratively, but I still do not find it within me to regret it or be ashamed.

I remove my mask for the night, my face warm and uncomfortable underneath. It's worth the ability to talk to her, though. I wash away the sweat and try not to look at that which I hide, the very reason I know this is all going to be miserable. I have more important things to focus on, like cleaning my apartment. If she's coming over to dine, my place of residence should look respectable, shouldn't it? At this moment, it's a mess of composition pages and candles and matches.. which reminds me of the part I was trying to bring together earlier, my chain of thought from that moment lost.

But, looking at where I was headed _now_ , I can hear a better way to continue. I pull up the violin, rereading, mentally mapping out the new ideas. I replay the older parts, the more defined section, adding some experimental waivers and notes, from which I segue into the new part, light and loose and.. happy. The tune turns from melancholy to mirth, bubbling with enthusiasm and energy.

Satisfied, I hastily write down the new course for the song, and set down the violin in its case, letting it sleep for the night. And, with that, I resume my earlier mission of cleaning and organizing.. I have a very special guest coming over, after all.

By the time I feel ready for sleep, for my day to truly end, it's quite late, but my studio is significantly improved and I feel very satisfied with the progress. There's still much to do, but there will be more time in the coming days. I suppose I'll have to send Darius out to get some supplies, my kitchenette unfortunately low on supplies, and if we are to have a dinner, it will have to be cooked.. As I settle into bed, I start to write a list of what I'll need, but I drift off before I can finish it, sleep finding me easily tonight..

C-

"You have a date!?" Meg shouts, jostling the table and my arm, but I pull away in time to save her neck from having a permanent etch-a-sketch failure of a line down it.

"Yeah! I think! Now, stay still!"

"How can I stay still? You have a _daaaate_! And, best of all, _you_ asked _him_. And he's showin' you his place! Ah! That's so _cool_!"

"Like I said, I'm not really entirely sure it's a date. He didn't _say_ anything specific. It's.. it's just a dinner for now."

"Okay, see, you _say_ that, but I am still going to fully assume it's a damn date. You've got a date!" She squeals. I sigh, and she stills, letting me resume her halo of flowers. It's going nicely so far, the linework coming easily tonight. It's going to look marvelous when it's done.. "When is it?"

"Thursday. I had a client cancel on me, and he was the only one that evening, and Erik said that day didn't have any pick-ups in the second half of the day, so we're both free and no one should really be a bother in the shop, so.."

"Oh, that's so _cool_. He owns a flower shop. He's all artsy like you. You guys, are like, made for each other."

"As if. I'm not sure that kind of thing exists. We just.. clicked. Maybe it's the weird way we met or something, but we clicked. Or whatever." I shrug.

"I don't know. It's all kinda magical. I mean. Fairy tale. Those romances you see in movies or read about in books and they're too good to be true.. but here you are. You've got a mystery guy who's really sweet and you're a rad artist girl who is undeniably kick ass.. and you've got a date!"

"Honestly, I'm surprised you read, Meg." I joke. She laughs. "Do you really think it seems that special?"

"Well. In one way, every relationship and the start of it is special and magical in its own way, even the ones that are bad. So maybe I'm just extra happy for you that this one seems so.. good? I mean, it does just seem like you've got something extra special between you, or you could. I may be romanticising it all just the tiniest bit, but you seem so happy."

"What? I'm always happy."

"Yeah, but not like this. You are, like, glowing this past week. So excited and chipper and.. better." She turns her head to look at me. I lean back so she can actually see me. "I know we haven't been friends too long, and maybe you don't think of me like that anyway, maybe I'm just a nosy client to you, but I know.. we don't talk about your family. Because it obviously upsets you a lot. But the weight of whatever happened, it's always there, just beneath, ready to come out and make you sad.. I'm not saying this fling with Erik has, like, cured that or anything, but you seem so much more genuinely.. happy. Like maybe the weight of whatever happened isn't _so_ heavy."

"Oh, Meg.. I guess I see what you mean. I have.. felt a lot better. But don't discount yourself from that, either. You _are_ my friend, and I hope I'm good enough to be yours. And it was _your_ project that led me to this, so it's your fault, too." I smile.

"Aw, you mean that?"

"Of course!" And then she swings an arm around to give me a hug, despite the fact that I'm sitting almost on top of her. Nevertheless, it's a really sweet moment, and I find myself really grateful to know her and how sweet she is, in her own odd way. She pulls away, eyes a little wetter. "Now, how about I finish your lillies?"

"My lilium lancifolium!" She says, giddy. "Yeah, why not?"


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3:

C-

I bike over the shop, nervous and excited and overall just entirely too eager. I feel like a kid heading to the biggest candy shop in the world. I have to force myself to take my time so that I don't arrive sweaty and gross with runny makeup. I wish I had a better ride, too, but I've lived in this city for so long that I _know_ I can bike anywhere faster than any car, and much safer. Plus I can't afford car insurance _and_ gas _and_ rent _and_ loan payments. Not quite.

So I simply dusted off my bike to make sure that no pollen or dirt could possibly ruin my outfit. I chose a cute, springy blue dress with short sleeves and a modest v neck, with a robin's egg blue pair of capri leggings and white flats. I did my hair up in a bun, so I opted to not wear my helmet and instead just take the ride slowly and carefully for safety's sake as well as style's.

I lock up my bike across the way and check my email. Erik texted me instructions for when I arrived, so that I didn't have to go through the shop.

 _Go around the back through the alley. There is a white wooden fence behind the building. Enter there._

His message reads, cryptically. But, despite the vagueness, I trust him. Maybe I'm being naive and this will all go horribly bad for me, but I just don't feel like that's the case. So, chin high, I march behind the building, using the wide alley way on the approaching side. Sure enough, there's a seven foot tall, white and wooden fence that spans from the Erik's building to the next. It's a huge amount of space… is it all his? The fence gate is all the way at the end, and there's only the one, so I can only assume the veranda is all his, or Darius' uncle, who I guess technically owns the building itself. But if Erik lives here, it might as well be his.

The latch is unsecured, which means that Erik is expecting me. I open the gate and step inside.. I gasp as I see the majestic garden before me. I'm not sure why I didn't think this is what he did with the space, but the thought went completely by me.

The ground is paved with a beautiful and classic orange brown stone, carved slick and smooth. There's a fountain made of the same stone, but it's so gentle it would probably be more accurate to call it a bird bath. There are feeders absolutely everywhere, those raised boxes for growing plants, and they're all blooming and bursting with life. There's even some small trees in the back corner just across from me, like a miniature grove, and a stone bench underneath the largest of these trees.

Even better, there's hanging lights all over, a lot of string lights in the trees, but also draped across the inside of the fence, post lights in all the feeders and along the central path that leads to a wooden staircase to the second floor. There's a small porch up there, also aglow with white string lights, and even a couple lanterns. I am completely agape at the simplistic appeal of it, wandering the well-laid garden like a girl transfixed by fairies.

"I take it you enjoy the garden?" I hear Erik's voice from the upper porch, and I wheel around, still grinning like a goof. He's at the top of the stairs, wearing a simple dress shirt and a charcoal vest with matching dress pants and black shoes. He's also wearing the same milky-white mask, but his long dark hair is slicked back much more tightly than before. "Christine?"

"Oh, yes, yes the garden is amazing. Did you plant all this? Is this where all your flowers come from? How long did it take? It's _amazing_ , Erik." I ask in a rush, spinning around again to take it all in.

"Yes, I planted it all. These are my personal plants, though; nothing I grow back here goes out front." I sigh in wonder. These ones _are_ way nicer than even those in the shop, and that's saying something. "Are you hungry? Our-" He coughs once, starting over. "Dinner is nearly ready."

"Yeah." I nod, and bounce up the stairs. At the top, he offers a hand, and, feeling like it's the natural thing to do, I take it. "Wait. Did you cook?" I pause, halting him as well.

"..yes. Should I not have?"

"I just thought we would order takeout or a pizza. I thought that's what you were asking me all those health questions about." During our back and forth this past half week, he'd asked if I was allergic to anything and what styles of food I'd like- I assumed we would be ordering in.

"Oh." He balks. "Would that have been preferable?"

"Not necessarily, no, but it's a lot of work to pull together a meal- I never expected you'd go to all that effort.." I want to add 'on our first date', but I have to wonder, again, if that's really what this is? I want it to be, but does he?

"I had assumed it was the only proper way to handle things of this nature. Etiquette." Erik shrugs.

"Aw. I can't wait to see it, then! I bet it's fantastic."

"Very well, then. I hope you will enjoy it." He smiles. Though what's visible of his expression shows a pleasantness, the rest of him is tense and nervous as he shows me inside. I try not to focus too hard on him, then, so that he doesn't feel under pressure to look or act a certain way for me. It's not difficult to switch my thoughts away, either, when I see the studio of an apartment.

It's got high ceilings, probably eight or nine feet, but every inch of wall is covered in black cube shelves, full of books and binders and god knows what else. Or if it's not a shelf, it's a painting, and all abstract, brushy, breathy works. I think I recognize a few, but I'm not sure. One corner of the room is sectioned off by a dark curtain, which I suspect is a makeshift bedroom. Another is a kitchenette, not much larger than my own, and the rest is open floor, though there is a small desk with an ancient, blocky computer, and a table that's got candles and roses on it..

Two places are set, everything perfectly aligned as far as I can tell. In the center, there's a large glass dish full of pasta with what looks like chicken and white sauce on top, sprinkled with cheese and herbs. It smells divine. I can hear a radio playing a foreign song, french, I think.

"Did you do all this by yourself?"

"Of course. Is it too much?" Erik puts a hand to his mouth.

"No! It's just.. a lot. A lot of effort, I mean. I like it."

"Ah, then it was worth the effort. Come, would you like to start?" Erik gives a tug on my hand, which I'd forgotten he was still even holding. I'm suddenly very aware of the size and length of his hand under mine, the thinness and the curvature of not just his hand, but his whole self. But it's gentle, _he's_ gentle, and I just smile and nod and let him pull me to the table. He pulls out my chair for me and settles into his own. I set my bag down on the floor beside my chair as Erik takes my plate for me, scoop in hand. "You said you enjoyed italian, yes? I hope that chicken alfredo is well for you tonight."

"It'll be great! I'm still blown away you went to all this effort for this.." 'For me', I almost say.

"Of course! Why would I do anything but the best?" He chuckles, scooping some pasta and a slice of chicken onto a plate, passing it to me. The table is small enough that neither of us has to reach very far. I wait for him to fill his own plate and then dig in. It's.. honestly not the best I've ever had, but it's the best that wasn't made by my dad, and it almost brings me to tears with the first few bites.

"You did a really good job." I say instead, determined not to be an emotional mess through this. I'm nervous enough without reminding myself of my parents and getting sad and weepy being a problem.

"Thank you." Erik says, avoiding my eyes, but I see his ear tips are red again, so it's out of humble pride that he won't look at me. We eat in silence for a while, the radio singing sweetly somewhere behind us. I am acutely aware of how slowly he goes, though, probably due to the mask and how much of his upper mouth it hides. I want to tell him to take it off, for his own sake, but I don't know what it is he feels he has to hide, and I don't want to upset him. So I decide to bring up the other thing. As we both near the end of our plates, I decide to pipe up.

"Erik?"

"Yes, Christine?"

"Can I ask you something that might be silly?"

"You may ask me anything."

"Is this a date?"

"I-it is a get together, which may be _referred to_ as a date." He says cautiously, leaning away from his plate. This dodge of a response is enough to keep me going, assuring me that I _need_ to ask the next question.

"Okay, but.. like a romantic date. Like couples or potential couples do. Because.. I want it to be. But, well, we haven't actually, out loud, like.. called it that. And I want to make sure that that silly miscommunication thing doesn't happen, where one or both of us is thinking something but because we don't talk about it we're constantly doubting or being awkward.. like it's kinda been for me." I admit, blushing. I didn't think it would be both this easy and this _hard_ to just talk about it, but each word I speak feels more and more freeing but also more nerve-wracking.

"Well… I had rather hoped it was.. such a date, but I, like you, was unsure. I didn't want to ruin whatever it was by asking. Not-" He leans forward again, eyes wide behind the mask, "Not that _you_ have ruined it, not at all! I simply-" He takes a deep breath here, "Things that are pleasant do not normally last for me, so I supposed I planned to just wait until it was over to ask questions. But if you are feeling the same way.." He's paled, looking sick. I guess talking about feelings is as hard for him as it is for me, maybe worse..

"I think I am. I like you. I'd like to get to know you. And I want to be clear about things. The last time I dated someone.. it ended because of a lot of miscommunication and.. and mistrust. I don't want that again. So I want to be open. About everything, if I can."

"Everything.. This is a lot to ask." I realize what that sounds like to him and I panic.

"Not all at once, and, and not more than you're comfortable with- I just meant that, that _I_ want to be open. I guess it'd be nice if you could feel the same, but I'd never, ever pressure you. Even if you, right now, decided just to be friends, I mean, gosh this is all moving so fast already we met like a week ago and we're kind of on a _date_ I don't wanna go _too_ fast you know I just want things to not stop I guess-"

"Ah, you're fine!" Erik reaches out, a hand hovering over my own, but still not reaching out. It does it's job, though, calming my little panic.

"S-sorry."

"You seem to scare yourself very easily."

"I have a lot of self doubt." I say, looking down at his hand, now resting on the table. "I'm very scared a lot of the times."

"Do I frighten you?"

"You? As a person, no. As a potential significant other? Oh, very much." I admit, daring to look up, but it seems his eyes are focused on our hands, and the small space between them. "As much as I like you, and would like to get to know you, I'm also very scared to care. Not just about you, either. Meg, too. My coworkers. Even friends I had before, I.. I'm just scared."

"I can understand that. I feel that way too. You are interesting, and this is new and pleasant and I do not wish for it to stop, but it is new and frightening as well. Is it wise, then, to continue?"

"Do you- are you suggesting we stop meeting each other?" I feel myself pale, my heart skidding to a stop.

"I am. It is not an option I _desire_ , but it is something we could do to solve the.. fear factor."

"I don't think I like that option, either. I don't know. I _like_ you." Erik blushes, his ears burning again. I chuckle at it, and he pulls away.

"And I, you. I am not sure how I managed to trick you into this.."

"You didn't trick me. I came back to _you_. I asked for this." I lean forward, trying to capture his attention. "I asked for you." He blushes all the harder, trembling.

"I do not see why.. but I will not question this. Not tonight." He sighs. "You wish to get to know each other." He states.

"Yeah. I do. Do you?"

"Very much so. I am simply unsure that any.. courtship would last for very long."

"Then we can just be friendly. I'm fine with that."

"I do not wish to disappoint you."

"I don't wanna bore _you_." I raise an eyebrow. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it, realizing my point. "Can I help you clean up?" I think we're both done eating, now.

"You are my guest."

"And I can help clean up." I stand, picking up my plate and silverware.

"Ah.. if you wish to." Erik stands and takes his own plate and shows me to the kitchenette's sink. "If you will clear the table, I will set away the food. The dishes will soak." I nod. He turns the water on, running the plates under the stream. I carry the remaining half of the alfredo dish, heavy glass still warm, to the counter by the sink, handing the scoop to Erik.

"And what will we do while the dishes soak?"

"I hoped to show you my garden, perhaps, but if there is something you would prefer to do, talk or.." He shrugs, rubbing the excess off the scoop.

"I have no expectations. I'd love to see the garden." I smile before I head back to the table to put out the candles and collect the placemats. It's been a long time since I've had a set-table kind of dinner, and it doesn't feel like a chore to clean up after. And, despite the happy memories it brings back, I don't feel terribly sad in their wake. "Where do the mats go?"

"I do not know. I had Darius buy them the other day. I suppose.. in a cabinet somewhere."

"You _bought_ placemats specifically for this date?" I ask, a little incredulous, but mostly enamored with it. Erik looks to the left with just his eyes, then back at me.

"Yes?"

"You're too cute." I blush, putting my face in my hand.

"If you say so." He sounds uncomfortable, and I look out through my fingers. It's hard to tell, but he seems.. upset. "You may put them anywhere. I will find a home for them later."

"I'm sorry.. Did I say something wrong?" I ask, timidly.

"Wh- no. No." He looks up from the dishes, yellow eyes flashing. "I am.. I am unused to being told positive things. Please, forgive my behavior."

"You're fine. I just.. didn't want to upset you."

"It's all well." He assures me. "I'm nearly done here; I just need to put this away." He points to the casserole dish. "Feel free to take a look around, if you'd like." I nod and decide to look for the radio. I want to know what station this is that only plays french songs that sound like they came out in nineteen-twenty. I browse the shelves as well, seeing all sorts of titles in all sorts of languages. Can he read all these?

I can't find the radio itself, the sound coming from almost everywhere, so I start to think he's got some kind of fancy speaker system, though I'm not sure where he's playing the music from in that case either. This particular song is long and repetitive, and I catch most of what _I think_ are the words, so I try to hum along, mumbling the words I do recognize. I get lost in the covers of books and attempted french lyrics..

E-

I shut off the water and shake my hands to be rid of the remaining drops, and in the new proximal silence I hear a most amazing sound. It's just a hum, just a shadow of what it could be, but it is marvelous nonetheless. I keep myself quiet and slow, so as not to disturb her, wrapping the top of the glass with foil, and sliding it into the fridge.

Even with this task completed, I am loathe to interrupt her, for as she continues, she grows more confident, and as such her voice steadily improves, gaining a kind of momentum. I sink to the counter, my jaw resting on one hand as I listen. Surprises and more surprises from this one..

The song ends and she seems to fall away, getting lost in thought. A new one starts, but she remains still, staring emptily at some book or another.

"Christine?" I call, curious and worried at once. She blinks and looks up, then turns to me, blushing.

"Y-yes?" She doesn't seem to realize that she was singing, or that I heard her. I want to beg her to sing again, want to ask her to never stop, but I restrain myself. That would be too much to ask of anyone, and so suddenly, and for me? No.

"Are you ready?"

"The garden, yes." She nods, floating over to me. Normally there is a literal bounce to her step, something lively and bubbly, but it's gone now, and the effect is an eerily perfect walk. "I'm ready." I stand up, offering an arm, which she tucks her own into. She seems ghostlike, now, trying to be present but only half-succeeding. Somewhere in her mind, she is herself haunted by something that refuses to leave her be.

"Christine. Do you have a favorite flower?" I ask as I walk us toward the door and the outside. I hope to distract her, for a time, from that which plagues her so.

"Me? I'm.. I'm not good at plants." She says, dodging.

"Surely, though, you have something you like the look of. Even if you don't know the name, I might. I could identify it if you described it to me, or drew it."

"No, it's not that I don't know it's name.." She shrugs. I open the door for her, letting her step through first.

"Is it common? What is it? Daisies, roses, sunflowers?"

"Dandelions." She admits. I halt, the door shutting behind me based on momentum and weight rather than purpose. The soft slam and click of it coming closed jar me, but I don't know why I'm surprised.

"But those are-"

"Weeds, I know. But I love them! They're fluffy and bright and they pop up everywhere they can. So determined.. Sunflowers are a decent second place, though. For a 'real' flower." She chuckles, but it sounds sad to me.

"I didn't mean to insult you, Christine. I was merely surprised."

"That's okay. I've got bad taste in plants, I know. I think I only like them because they're the only plants I _can't_ kill. I think I told Meg I have the opposite of a green thumb. Things _die_ when I take care of them.." She jokes, and then she grows even more somber.

"If I am making you sad, you are free to say so." I state, and it seems to shock her.

"You aren't making me sad. _I'm_ making me sad! I'm sorry.. This is turning out to be a weird night, huh?" She grins up at me, the green of her eyes sparkling.

"Not at all. By this time I am usually playing my violin, but it is not uncommon for me to venture out here, when it is cool and quiet and dark." I look down at the garden, my little lovelies a sleeping green, now that the sun has set. The flowering plants have brought their flowers in, and the leaves hang loosely, no longer straining, reaching for the light that's fading. Were we not in a city, we might be able to see the vestiges of orange sunset on the horizon, but here, in the heart of a rising landscape, the sky only appears dark blue, the buildings around us highlighted in silver only by my lights here. In the street, the goldenrod lights stain the edges of buildings and the pavement and cars, making them glow in pale imitation of the sun, but not here.

Here, everything is cast in silver and blue and white, a mirrored reflection of the sky itself.

"It's so wonderful here. Everything about your home is so alive, from the literal garden outside to the, the history you have in your books and the music inside. My apartment is so much smaller, and I really don't have much of anything _in_ it. I had to get rid of a lot, or get it put into storage. Not enough room, and if I couldn't have it all, I didn't really want any of it. Incomplete sets, or something. Your home feels like a _home_." Christine muses out loud. She, too, is bathed in silver light and soft blue shadows, and she seems at peace this way.

"Does it? I'm glad you feel that way, though I wish you felt more positively about your own place of residence."

"It's temporary. I keep telling myself that, but the more I go on, the more I feel like I'm gonna be stuck there forever."

"How do you mean?"

"Well.. I moved here to study and get a job, just short term, for practical reasons. I moved back home when my dad got sick and then.. I spent a long time there, taking care of him, never sure if today was the last day. And then.. then it was the last day. And then another day happened, just without him, and another, and another, and I realized I had to keep going. Realizing that almost.. broke me. But I moved back here- I couldn't afford the mortgage on my parents house- and I've been here ever since. I wanna save up and buy their house back, but I don't know if I can.."

"That is.. quite stressful. Do you greatly dislike it here?"

"I love the city, I do. I love my job and the people and everything. It just doesn't always feel like.. my home. Where I belong. I just.. in a way, it feels like a cage. Just a really pretty cage. I guess it's not the worst one to live in, all things being what they are, but I don't know."

"I'd like to believe you'll escape. Get that house back, if you truly desire it. Be free."

"And.. how would you feel if I left?" She looks up at me, unhappily curious. I find I cannot stand her gaze, and I look away, back to my garden, where my tulips are just starting to sprout, thinking about it. There is what I feel and would like to say, and then there is what I _should_ feel and say..

"I don't know. I think I would miss you, but I could never condemn you to stay somewhere you hated being. I would simply have to understand." I know the feeling of being trapped all too well. I could never trap someone else, damn them to a single place for the rest of their lives.. Not as I have had done to me, even if I deserve it.

"Hmm." She emotes, simply thoughtful. At last she does not seem sorrowful, only tired, sleepy.

"Are you ready to head home? You seem prepared to fall asleep standing up." I comment.

"I suppose. Didn't you want to show me the garden?"

"I can walk you through it another time, if it pleases you. Besides, it's grown cold out here, and I would hate for you to suffer for it."

"It's only a mild chill. But I do have work tomorrow.." She concedes, yawning. "I guess I _should_ go."

"Will you be well on your own? It is late.."

"I work in a tattoo parlor. Sometimes I don't get home until well after midnight. I think I'll be okay." Christine states, equal parts proud and tired. "But thank you. It was a great dinner, and a good talk." She moves towards the stairs, leaving me behind. Already, something in me lurches at the vacuum of her absence, and I must know, I must-

"When can I expect you again?" I ask, less than eager to see her go. She pauses at the stair top, looking back at me.

"You want me to come back?" She blinks, lips pursed in hopeful query.

"Very much. I apologise if I led you to think otherwise. I am simply.. cautious. A bit afraid, honestly. But not enough to stop wanting to see you, if you still wish to meet with me."

"I'd like to. Very much." She grins, pulling out her phone, waving it at me. "I'll message you," She says, and I feel it is a promise. I return her smile and wave, and watch her go.. down the stairs,through the garden, out the gate.. until she has truly left.

I wait several moments, taking in the strange evening. I wonder if it is strange to me because of my lack of personal experience, the magic sensation that surely follows Christine, or a true oddity to the situation, but in the end, I have no answer. I don't think I need one, either. I only wish for more of _her_.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4:

((part 5 is done already, should I upload it right away or make you wait for it?))

E-

Weeks go by. In the beginning, she keeps her promise of messaging me, about her day, her thoughts, with questions. It is sweet, and I enjoy the thoughtfulness of each message, and take great care to reply with the same care and consideration.

But by the end of the second week, her messages stop without explanation. She simply vanishes. She does not come to the shop, she does not send Darius to fetch me, there is no sign that she ever existed, save for the eight by twelve page of drawings still hanging in my workroom downstairs and the dozens of emails I have in my inbox. I read through them, over and over again, wondering what I have done that sent her away so abruptly.

We were in a heated back and forth about some film and cinematography versus books and novels when she stopped. My browser informed me that she was offline, which had been common throughout our conversations previous. She was often at work, after all, and couldn't spend _all_ her focus on some man through her phone, I'm sure. But she never came back online. I waited. I waited a day.

I sent her a message, a reminder, asking if she was busy. She was still offline, but perhaps her cell phone would notify her? Silence ensued. A day later I sent another message. I have not sent anymore.

I am not sure why it bothers me so much that she has disappeared. I want to believe that, for her sake, she has simply decided I was not worth her time and done the only reasonable thing she could to get rid of me. But I fear worse, I fear that she is somehow harmed or missing, or even worse still. I have no proof, no way of knowing, and Darius has been too busy in the shop for me to send on an errand like stalking a girl _for me_. And as I cannot leave myself..

I force myself to act on the assumption that she is removing me from her life. It's the reasonable assumption. This is a safe, quiet city, and I am certain Christine has no enemies, and even if she did, she can, indeed, handle her own protection. So she has grown bored of me, as I predicted, as is safe for her. Fine. Fine.

I try to take her sudden absence with grace and understanding. I do not succeed.

I grow angry, at her, at myself, at believing, even for those short weeks, that it could last any longer than that. Nothing of happiness can last for me. _Nothing stays_.

I do my work and retreat back to my home. I take care of my garden in the early morning and in the late evening. The dish grows rotten in the fridge, for I cannot bear to look at it and think of that odd but wonderful evening spent in the company of another person for the first time in a decade. I stop caring about anything other than work, music, an hour or so of sleep, and repeating.

I play my anger through my faithful violin. _She_ has never left me. She sings for me, moans and cries and bellows my frustration and my discontent. She feels all these things for me, so that I will not tear the world and myself apart. I fear that I begin to fall apart anyway, and days blur as I fail even to sleep. I cannot rest my mind long enough for the rest of me to either, and I become manic as time passes without my recognition..

Until one day, Darius knocks on my door. I growl and drag myself to the door, leaning heavily on everything on the way there, hardly able to stand. I fling the door open, and the boy jumps.

"What?" I ask, belligerent.

"Your girl is here. She's in the back, I told her she could wait for you there." He speaks rapidly, still shrunken. "You might wanna clean up, though."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Your girl- Christine. She's waiting in the garden for you, but she didn't look too great. I mean- she's still pretty, just, she seemed really unwell, you know?"

"Christine?" I repeat dumbly. She's here? Could it be? "Thank you, Darius." I finally say, and Darius nods before heading back down the stairs. I shut the door to the shop and quickly spruce myself up. A brush through my hair, a fresh shirt, and the inside of my mask cleaned, and I head out into the back, the last part of Darius' message starting, too slow, to worry me.

I step out onto the porch, still woefully unbalanced, but something akin to excitement urges me on. There she is, arms and head resting on one of the back planters, sound asleep. The lines under her eyes are deep enough that I can see them from up here.. what has she been up to that it would exhaust her so?

Despite what must be cold stone by now, the shadows of the fence concealing the warm light of the sun, she is pressed down on the ground and the planter, bare legs and arms seeming not to care for the roughness. As I haltingly take the stairs, I can see her shivering, even in her sleep. It must have been a warm day today, then, for she is wearing a tank and shorts, and those boots she does so seem to adore. She must not have expected the garden to be so cold this evening, or perhaps she came here impromptu, on some whim.

I try not to trace the outline of her legs, but it is difficult when there is a long tattoo riding the outside. I want to know her, I want to understand her, but I do not want to _take_ anything of her. I avoid the tattoo, then, and focus on her face. She is tired, stressed, exhausted here on the ground. I stumble as I near her, and she wakes, blinking.

"Erik! Buddy!" She exclaims, voice shaking off sleep. She pushes herself up to lean on the planter, rather than lie draped over its edge.

"Christine.. what are you doing here?" I can't stop myself from asking.

"I should've called, I know but.. you would not believe the month I've had. My phone died, like, _died_ died. It was like six years old but I never thought it'd bite the dust like that, out of the blue. And I don't own a regular computer anymore- I cannot believe how much internet costs- so I couldn't message you. I wanted to call or have someone at the shop call, but it got so busy all of a sudden- I was booked for weeks. And then, to try to come up with extra to get a new phone, I picked up a second job from one of my clients designing, like, Hallmark cards. It's been a lot of fun working traditional again but it's kept me so busy in my downtime and so tired that I couldn't even walk down here to talk to you, and I _tried_ , I really, really tried." Here she yawns as though she needed a testimony to her story. "But I got my new phone today! My emails the same but I figured I should come tell you my number." She smiles sweetly, eyes pink from lack of sleep. She shows me her new phone, flatter and wider than the last.

"Alas, I still do not have a cell phone." I mourn, half-joking. She smiles a little wider and pulls out a second phone.

"It was some silly deal. Buy one get one free. I told them I live alone but they _really_ would not let me leave without the second one. So.. you have a phone now! I hope black is okay." She presses the device into my hand.

"I-" I stutter, once, and then lose all ability to speak. I cannot.. _understand_ this. I have never received a gift like this before. "Thank you, I- I've never.. I'm.." I try to say something, anything, but I am at a loss. Christine surprises me with a hug, then, and I am stunned still as well as silent. I nearly drop the phone, I am so unable to process what is happening.

"I'm so sorry it took so long. It was an impossible month. I keep thinking I shoulda been able to visit or _something_ but I didn't feel like I had any time or I was literally too tired to stand and I really, really missed you." She mumbles, face pressed into the neck of my collared shirt. I feel something wet there, and I realize she's crying.

"Christine-" I start to tell her it's fine, she's fine, but then I realize how _warm_ she is, even in the cold, even considering her walk or ride over, especially compared to how she felt last time. "Are you feeling well?" I push her back to look at her. I thought it was the sleep still wearing off, but her eyes are unfocused and red, and she is pale, almost as pale as I am.

"No, actually. I think I caught somethin' working so hard, but it was worth it to get my phone back. I probly shouldn't stay, though, so I don't get you sick, too, but.. Had to come say hi."

"And I am.. _so_ glad that you did. But I must insist that you stay. You are unwell, and-" And I cannot walk you home or tuck you into bed or help you should you leave. "-I can take care of you here, at least for a little while."

"I still have work tomorrow, though.. and I really don't want to get you sick. I can take care of myself. Been doin' it for a couple years." She says, defiant, but she looks like she's on the brink of sleep again, and her temperature just spiked under my hand. She can't even seem to support herself, my hands on her arms being all that's kept her upright.

"You don't _have_ to, not this time, at least. Besides, your contagious period is already over if you're showing symptoms _now_. I am not likely to catch anything just from sharing a room with you at this point."

"Oh. Well…" She thinks, eyes fluttering weakly. "Kay." She acquiesces with a nod, and I give a breath of relief. I stand, tucking my new phone- _she gave me a phone_ \- into my pocket, and try to pull her to her feet, but she is as unbalanced as I am, and weaker, or perhaps simply too tired. I stoop back down to pick her up, and she slides easily into my arms, not even questioning me. She puts her arms around my neck, and she is heavier than I imagined as I scoop her up. I also remember to grab her bag, though I have to crouch down again to do so. I feel myself nearly tip over, but I manage to keep myself and my precious cargo from falling. Perhaps failing to eat for several days combined with failing to sleep for nearly two weeks is not the best state to be in when trying to care for another human being, but it's what we have to work with.

It's not impossible, not even terribly difficult to carry her, though keeping balance is where the struggle lies. I manage, I think, quite well, even in getting us both through the door. I set her on the couch, first, then get her a glass of ice water, which she mumbles a thank you for.

"I need to change the sheets. Just rest here for now, and yell if you need anything." I tell her, and she nods. Hastily, and with much fumbling, I tear my weeks-old sheets off my bed and replace them. I hesitate to put the comforter on, though, unsure if that would make it too warm for her already feverish body, but would it perhaps help her get through it faster? I am unsure. My own days of fever, limited though they may be, usually pass in blurs of half-waking attempts to make myself comfortable, and failing. We'll have to see. Perhaps the endless resource of the internet can provide some knowledge..

Still, the bed is fresh and ready for Christine, and I can ask her about her preferences myself.

I stagger over to her, getting lightheaded from all this exertion, but I will care for myself after she is settled. I pull her back into my arms, finding her already and for the most part asleep. I set her down on my fluffy queen sized bed, the curtains providing nearly total darkness. It's the only way I can find any sleep, normally, but will she find it peaceful? She groans as she settles into the lush mattress, her breathing heavy.

"Is there anything I can get or do for you?" I ask her, deeply concerned. She looks up at me, and I wonder what she thinks of me. Am I looming in the dark, a threat? Am I a mystery, an intrigue she cannot resist, or am I perhaps something, some _one_ she trusts?"

"Is there any music? Can't sleep without.. new phone doesn't have any.." She breathes. I remember how I the smashed cd player, destroyed it in a fit of self-directed anger, and how I have been fixing it slowly these past few days, but it's nowhere near to functionality. But I also remember my violin, my faithful friend, sitting in her case..

"I think I can provide something." I assure her, pulling the sheet over her, which she pulls up to her chin, and leave her to the restful dark. As I gently pry my violin from her case, my heart quakes. I have not played in front of another person, or even performed such that someone could hear me, since my childhood, a time and place that feels three lifetimes past. But if it will bring her comfort.. I put the bow to the strings, giving her and I both a test. The sound is true, and I sigh, ready, or at least a little more ready to play.

I walk back towards the curtain to stand at what would be the foot of the bed, and, steadying myself, draw the bow in the start of a lullaby. It's one of my own, unfortunately, the only thing that will come to mind, the most natural song for the situation. I can't seem to remember how to place my hands or form the chords for anything else. Still, it is one of my favorites of my own, and I think it is suitable. I hear no complaints or praise from Christine, but I take it to mean that it's working, that it fills the air enough that she can rest.

Like before, I let the violin speak for me, pouring the amorous ease I feel into and out of the singing strings. I am.. so glad to know that it was not by choice that Christine stayed away, and it was by choice that she returned, when she could. I am ashamed for my fitful, tantrum-like response to her reprieve, now knowing that it was an unfortunate necessity she would not have otherwise taken on. I am both gladdened and despairing to know that she worked herself into this state for _me_ , for our fragile and new friendship, which we both are eager to eventually become more..

I have to remind myself that this is a poor idea, on all accounts. I cannot do right by her, in the end. I am doomed to failure. Can I still take what I will from our time together, knowing that it will only make it worse when everything finally does come to an end? Is that fair to her? I tried to express this to her before, but was I not clear enough? Did she perhaps shrug it off, thinking it could be worked through, not knowing all the details? I do not know.

I stop myself from worrying at the moment, and turn to the music for comfort, for the both of us..

C-

I wake up in a tangle of black, sheer sheets, feeling sweaty and gross on the outside, but.. fresh on the inside. Better. The fog that I'd had over my brain the past few days is clear, finally. I thought it was just exhaustion catching up to me for the longest time, but I think I really was sick these past few days, and all I needed was some rest to clear it away. I pull my hair out of my face, trying to straighten it in the dark, wondering where I am exactly..

Until I remember leaving the parlor yesterday, the paying for of two new phones, and my ecstatic bike ride over, as well as collapsing in the garden, excited but exhausted. Erik asked me to stay, and, in my mild delirium, I said yes. I remember hazy dreams after that, music and dresses and suits, masks and candles and ribbon, dances, songs, lights... All of it feeling familiar but distant, like a past life or a memory. But here I am, in this bed, in this life, awake.

But that means.. I'm in Erik's bed, so where is he? I feel my face warm as I pat the empty bed next to me, just making sure. Not that I would ever suspect him of doing something gross, especially not to a sick and sleeping girl, but I'm not sure how I would react if I'd slept in the same bed as, well, anyone else. But no, he's not here, so where is he?

Wobbly on my feet, I still feel a little weak, and hungry, but I part the curtain that separates the bed from the room. The light is almost blinding compared to the inside of the black-out curtains, but I adjust. Then, I spot him, drawn out across the couch, head tilted back over the arm, one leg up on the other arm, the other leg hanging off the side. In his hands, he holds the violin, still poised to play. Was the music not entirely part of the dream, then? Or was it what _inspired_ the dream?

As I approach Erik, I hear him lightly snoring, eyes flitting under the mask. It seems heavy against his cheeks, uncomfortably weighted with his head back like this. I have a strong inclination to take it off, to ease that weight, but before I can fully lift my hand in consideration, I remember the dream. I'm not sure what about it is applicable to this, but it stops me. I have a feeling, a deep, lingering feeling that to do this, to see whatever he looks like, like this, without his consent and as a surprise.. would ruin everything. My intention was kindness, but I'd be lying if I said curiosity didn't play a part in the thought.

I retreat, deciding it's definitely best to let Erik reveal himself in his own time, if he ever chooses to. He doesn't owe me his secrets, after all. Even if things get serious between us, it's his choice. There are things I still can't imagine talking about.. things I'd rather forget than ever admit to out loud ever again.

I check around for my things, wondering, _needing_ to know what time it is. I still have work, after all. I find my bag behind the couch, my phone tucked inside. I'm surprised to find it's only six in the morning. I don't have to be in to work for another two hours, but I feel like I slept for a whole day. Well, I guess if I got here around eight last night, then I _did_ sleep for almost twelve hours.. Still, I have a lot of time to go home and change and head in.. If I leave in half an hour.

But I don't want to disappear from Erik's house so soon, so abruptly, and without even thanking him.. but I also don't want to wake him. From what I can remember of last night, he seemed not too good himself, but I was so excited to give him his new phone and just _see_ him that I was almost willfully ignorant of it. Now, though..

He needs his sleep, so I won't wake him. And, because I'm not sure where his phone is or if he'll think to check it, I pull out my sketchbook to write him a note. I take my time to think of something sweet to say, but even so my handwriting is so small that it hardly takes up any room.. I feel awkward leaving so much white space on any page, let alone something that should _mean_ something. I pace around the room, unsure what to do. He really like that drawing I did, but there aren't any flowers in here right now. There's some cute little potted plants on the counter, but I'm not familiar with them, and I'd like to do something that will _obviously_ mean something, so..

I look back at Erik, still asleep, unaware of my internal struggle. He's so peaceful right now.. And then, sketchbook in hand, I get an idea. Maybe it's cheesy, maybe he won't like it, but it's what I want to draw right now, so I set myself down on the floor, across from him, and get to sketching..

For me, drawing, or any art, really, has been really meaningful. All through school, cds and sketchbooks and notebooks were all I ever did for fun, for myself. It's my purpose, what I draw the most joy from, what makes me love _being_ the most, at least day to day. To draw is to love, and though it's way too soon to label whatever we've got going on as 'love', it could certainly end up that way, couldn't it? And love doesn't necessarily have to be a big, grand, scary kind of thing, either. It can be a slow, small, and gentle kind of thing, too. And he doesn't have to know right away how precious my art is to me, how much it just.. _means_. It can just be a thank you gift, an appreciative gesture..

I draw hard and fast, having little time to fuss about _complete_ accuracy, though somethings I do fawn over just a little bit. The hard edge of his mask, for example, and the way it sleekly frames the side of his face, a near-perfect borderline of face and hair. I love how his long, brown locks are usually neatly tied back, but here they've fallen loose, or been worked free from restless sleep against the arm of the couch. I focus on the slight part of his lips, the faint lines there and the small shadows they cast. I linger on his hands, leaving the violin, beautiful though it is, more as a block of tangled lines and overall shape, needing instead to capture the delicate way his spindly fingers rest against it. I wish I could imply the steady but slow and almost hesitant way he breathes, but my single sheet of paper and limited time makes this impossible- for now.

For the first time, I feel like I want to kiss him.

This isn't a new thing, for me. I've kissed boys and even girls before, but after a long process of getting to know them, of first acquiring permission and understanding and sometimes even safety. My parents may have been open-minded, but sometimes the world at large is not, after all. But now, now it's a small, casual, but needy little desire to plant even a small peck of a kiss on him. It's fast, it's easy, it's so.. strange. Maybe it's as a kind of thank you, maybe because, like I said before, to draw is to love or more realistically it's to _fall_ in love, or maybe it's something else, a simple want for touch rather than something bigger or more profound. I don't know.

I can't do it, of course, because he's asleep and that would be _weird_ so early on, when we're not even sure where all this is heading, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to anyway. I check my phone and see my allotted half hour has passed.. so I regretfully tear the page from my book and place it on the bed, where I'm sure he'll go to look for me first. Then I pull together my few things, slip on my shoes- though I don't remember taking them off- and head out the garden door, feeling at ease and just happy..


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5:

E-

When I wake, it is a slow affair. My sleep was dreamless, a blessing, and as my eyes slowly draw themselves open, I am not aware of it consciously, until suddenly I am simply awake. I keep still, feeling entirely too comfortable to stir and ruin it. But my mask irritates my face, only becoming worse the longer I try to ignore it. I cannot ignore it any longer, and I take a look around, but see no sign of a waking, wandering Christine, and so allow myself to pull it off, the fresh air immediately sweeping in, relieving the warmth and the pressure. I rub the places it sat too heavily, causing indents, mild headaches forming behind the skin. But, unsure of the time and Christine's status, I return the mask to where it ultimately belongs and stand, carefully placing my violin in her case.

I had played until I couldn't stand any longer, and then I played until I couldn't pace, and then I played until I could not keep my eyes open.. I fell asleep playing, but it was sweet, natural, easy. Much of my sleep is forced, but this, this was simple. I don't remember all of what I played, surely lapsing into improvisation, but I know that it was an attempt to express the genuine caring, fluttering feeling I have for my newfound friend.

Gently, I peer inside the curtain, expecting to find her still sleeping, but she's gone. The bed is made, and she's left a note. For a moment I can barely conceive of sleeping through her waking and leaving, unable to grasp the concept. I am a terribly light sleeper, my caretaker having once swore that the sound of the rising of the sun could wake me. I sorely needed it, but I still find it difficult to believe that I slept well or deeply enough to _miss her_.

Finally coming to peace with the fact that it happened, I take a look at her note. The top of it is a tightly penned couple of lines of words, her actual message. It reads:

 _Woke up before you did and had to go home to get ready for the day. Thank you for lending me your bed, and thank you for playing last night! I had really pretty dreams about it. Sorry I had to leave so early though. Can I come back tonight? I'll bring dinner! Just text me!_

And then her signature and her number and another heart, but below that..

A drawing of me. It takes up more than half the page. I'm not sure how to feel about it. The lines are, like last time, astoundingly elegant, but the form they make up, this time, is something I do not relate to beauty. Myself. I note the accurate thinness of my wrists and craned neck, the point of my ears, the streaks of untamed hair, my damnable mask.. But the more I stare at it, at her rendition of _me_ , the more I see a life to the drawing that is, in it's own way, appealing.

Yes, she's captured my life, something of my energy in the moment. I see peace in my closed eyes, in my hands still perched and gripping the violin and bow, in the faint purse of my lips.. I daresay that these things, at least, are attractive, appealing. At least how she has rendered them is, in any case. I linger on these, as I wander back out into the studio. As I sit back on the couch, I remember the cell phone in my back pocket, uncomfortable. I must have slept on it, though, and it's a small wonder I didn't break it or myself in my sleep. Then again, I appear to have stayed the way I fell asleep, according to Christine's heartfelt drawing and the ache in my neck and back.

I pull out my phone, and enter her number in the directory. I dislike the screen, it's lack of formal buttons, but it works, and I count myself blessed to even hold the device, let alone own it, to have received it. There is an icon of a landline phone, and another of a letter, as emails have. Hoping I am not misinterpreting these images, I tap on the letter icon, and it pulls up another application, one that looks like the messaging function in my browser. I sigh, feeling childish and unknowing, but grateful to have been correct in this assumption. I will have to ask for instructions on how to more aptly use this, but for now I have managed enough.

I text her that I would love for her to come back over after her job is done for the day, and that anything she chose to bring would be lovely, and then I go back to staring at the drawing, at me, wondering why I am not completely disgusted by it.

I typically hate all representation of myself. I cannot stand photography, especially, but things like this have been presented to me before, albeit much more rarely, and I have always detested them. Perhaps it is the care she put into the drawing. The things she focuses on are delicate and neat, obviously rendered with care, despite the otherwise haste of it. Is it simply because it is from her, this magic woman who's entered my life and who seems intent on staying? Is it because it is from her, and I am an obsessive, maniacal mess of a man who has, consciously or not, chosen her as his new whim?

I remove my mask, setting it on the couch, pleased to leave it there for a while. I more thoroughly rub away the pressures it's left behind and wonder if she could render me so lovingly if I did not hide my face, and the other, more horrible things about me that have nothing to _do_ with the way I like. Well, save for inspiration..

I groan, my head persisting in aching. I feel the slightest bit hungry, but the thought of actually eating makes me nauseous. The bed sounds pleasant, my body still begging for rest, so I text Christine to call or text ahead, and consider ending it with a heart, though I ultimately decide against it. Then, leaving the mask in its place on the couch, I carry myself, back creaking, to the bed, letting myself fall on top of it, not caring to struggle with placing myself underneath the sheet.

The dark feels like a companion, lulling me to sleep, familiar and known and comforting. I wonder if she felt the same way when she slept here, if she was at ease and comforted and happy. Oh god, I think I'm happy. Is this what it's like? To be more than content, or simply pleased, truly, even a tiny bit.. happy? If it is, I will surely never be able to let her go, for if I can even _glimpse_ this feeling again, perhaps this life is worth living..

C-

The day passes quickly, happily, though some residual tiredness makes some things more difficult than normal. I'm still really happy, fluttery with excitement anyway, and nothing goes horribly wrong which is a small miracle on most days. I only have one appointment today, and I'm not accepting walk-ins this afternoon, so I slowly mentally plan out how my evening will go. I nearly squeal when I get my first text from Erik, and then again when I get the second only five minutes later. I could dance, I could sing, I'm just so excited!

And I do. Sing, that is. My client isn't very talkative, and the piece isn't terribly large, but big enough for me to fall into it with focus. Before I really realize it, I'm lowly singing the words of a song I can't quite remember hearing before, simply letting them come and go, whatever feels right. And when I do realize it, I'm too invested in the song to stop. The client says nothing one way or another, but they've relaxed a lot, so I keep going, a little louder, with confidence and purpose. An hour passes this way, until the lines make up a dancing tiger on this man's arm.

He pays, I clean my corner, and I tell Andre that I'm done for the day, to which he nods and wishes me well. I dash out to my bike, and remember that Erik asked me to call ahead when I was coming over. I still have to get our dinner, but it's probably a good idea to call now, before I forget. I call his number, and wait while the phone rings, unlocking my bike..

..

..

"-ello?" I hear him come through, voice strained.

"Hey! It's me! I just got done and work and thought I'd call you before I forgot to!" I reply, chipper.

"Ah, good. When can I expect you?"

"I still have to go get dinner, is chinese okay? Probably it'll be an hour."

"Yes, chinese is will be fine. I assume you mean takeout?"

"Yeah. Is there anything specific you'd like?"

"..Lo mein, if possible."

"I'll see what I can do! So yeah, gotta bike there, wait for it, bike back. I'll be there in about an hour."

"I will be here."

"Awesome. Can't wait! Bye~!" I nearly purr, too excited. I pull the phone from my ear, ready to hang up- I always feel so awkward about hanging up on phone calls but I hate waiting through several minutes of awkward silence more- but before I can hit the little red button I hear:

"Farewell." Erik replies with a grin in his tone. I feel myself blush hard, and hang up. He's as happy to see me as I am to see him, I think.. which only makes me all the more excited. I shove my phone in my bag and bike down by the river to get to my favorite takeout place, hoping he likes them…

E-

She hangs up, and I am uncertain she heard me, but I simply shake my head. I am pleased to hear her so enthused for even this little get together, as unplanned and informal as it is. I am eager to see her again as well, though I should perhaps more thoroughly clean myself up before she arrives. I may have straightened my appearance out last night, but before that I had not, I am ashamed to say, so much as washed my face for days.. It's high time for some personal care, especially considering Christine being my guest.

I pick out a new dress shirt, a silver-blue color with a slight sheen, my standard gray pants and vest, and head into my bathroom. I hate using the shower, so I wash my hair with the hose and wash everything else with warm water and a wash cloth. I take it all one step at a time, as I feel massively _uncomfortable_ with it all, with the wrongness that is me. Too thin, too bony, too pallid and faint in complexion, not to mention all the unsightly additions to these naturally occurring abnormalities..

I simply avoid the mirror, choosing instead to operate by touch. It's not entirely a solution to the problem, but it is far better.

When that, the most difficult part, is done, I get dressed, a far more pleasant task. I cannot ever be something appealing by myself, but perhaps dressed in decent attire I can pass for something decent as well. As I button up the last of the vest, I feel better. Refined. Hidden. Safe. I pull my hair back in a loose tail, so that the base of my head does not remain wet all day, and then I reach for my mask, sitting obediently but mockingly on the counter, the top dotted with condensed steam.

I stare at it for a hard moment, hating it, hating my need for it, for all that it ever caused me to do and be. Were it not for this face, I do not know what sort of life I might have had, but surely there would be a family, a past, a _history_. I would not have been driven to do what was necessary to survive, I would not have become a _criminal_ , chained to one building for all my waking days, forced to watch the world behind fences and windows, in the dark like a sneaking animal.

Then again, if I had lived a normal life, would I ever have met Christine? Surely not. I would be in another country, living another life, no where near this american city, let alone trapped in it. Would a normal life be worth trading out the one good thing of this one? I.. I am entirely unsure. The romantic thing to say would be no, of course not, the adoration and company of this woman erases all my woes! She is a marvel, to be sure. I _do_ adore her, already. I fear that those yet unspoken woes may cause her anguish, that I may do or say or be something that harms her. But if I could trade this life, and her, for another, would I? To not know the agony of being who and what I am, to have had a caretaker in my youth, to have freedom and compassion and other such basic human rights from the start.. I would be a better person, almost assuredly. Less anger, less resentment. More worthy of knowing her, but unable to..

It is a hard question, and one that has unsettled me. It's easier to simply live the life I have, and deal with all that comes with it as is. Today, that means Christine. It means dinner and conversation and yes, hiding behind a mask, but doing so to have the pleasure of the aforementioned things and person. I can handle that.

I briefly take a look at that which I must hide, for I need to remember what it is that's doomed me, I must remember that I _am_ doomed. I cannot forget what lies beneath or what it will bring and why I must, for now at least, hide it. But I dare not look for long, though, disgust and anger a more physical threat than I care to admit, and I place the mask where it belongs, snug across my cheeks. This face, of plaster and resin and paint, is what must be seen. This is the only face Christine needs to know.

C-

I bound up the steps, a large paper bag full to the brim carefully cradled in my arms, and knock on Erik's back door, turning to look out at the garden. I don't think I've gotten to see it in the middle of the day, yet, and it's so different when it's so bright. The flowers are all open, the trees in the back seem taller and more open, and everything just seems up and awake and alive more than ever, something I didn't really think would be more possible. The string lights are all off, of course, so the leaves are aglow only with the natural yellow of the sun, making them seem somehow plastic or waxy. It's a trick of the light, I know, but an interesting one.

I turn when I hear the door open.

"Erik!"

"Christine." Erik smiles back, before noticing the large bundle. "Is that all for us?"

"I didn't know how long I'd be staying so I bought extra just in case I stay for like, second dinner." I joke.

"Is this second dinner very common?" Erik tilts his head.

"No, no, it's not even real. It was a very vague Lord of the Ring joke." I explain, but his apparent confusion only grows. "You know? The books by J.R.R. Tolkien? Made into a massive trilogy movie series with prequels and twelve hours of film and extras? It's huge."

"I am afraid I do not consume much film media. I.. do not own a television."

"Oh. I guess I should've figured. There's not enough room in my apartment for my old t.v. and all my parents' dvds, or I'd invite you over to watch. They're really good! I think I do have the book, though, if you'd like to read it."

"I would love to. Oh, pardon, would you like to come inside?" Erik moves out of the doorway, both of us realizing that we'd just been standing at the door like I was trying to sell Girl Scout cookies.

"Actually, could we eat outside? The trees smell absolutely fantastic, and it's a really pretty day out.." I suggest, pointing with my shoulders and a tip of my head to the bench in the back, hiding underneath those lovely little trees.

"Ah, the magnolias, yes. They just started blooming.. We can dine outside, if you prefer it. The shade will be pleasant." Erik nods, hesitantly stepping out onto the porch, blinking at the sun. He looks a lot better than when I left him this morning, looking like he _feels_ fresher, more rested. Still, he seems uncomfortable with being outside.

"We don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, it's not that I don't want to, I simply.. do not spend much time out in the sunlight hours. It will be a pleasant change." He tries to assure me. Once again, I remember that the blue-white that is his face is only a _mask_ , and that he seems to hide away for fear of judgement for wearing it. I want to apologise and push him inside, but he's already started down the stairs. "I promise, it- _I_ will be fine." He calls, pausing to look up at me. I still feel guilty for having, somehow, pressured him into this, but he continues on. I follow down after him, setting our late lunch-early dinner down on the bench.

"If you're sure." I say, giving him a moment to change his mind before I pull everything out. He looks over his shoulders, as do I, but the fence is tall, even taller than he is, and I doubt there's a lot of people much taller than that.

"This is perfect." He says with a relaxed nod.

"Alright! Then," I dig through the bag, procuring a medium sized plastic tub, ", here is your lo mein. And I didn't know if you could use chopsticks or preferred a fork, so I grabbed a bunch of each." I hand the tub to him, holding out a packet of each tool. Grinning, he takes the chopsticks.

"Would it surprise you to know that I have been to Asia?" He asks, demonstrating his mastery over the sticks with a couple short clicks.

"Yes and no. That's really cool. I've never been out of the _state_."

"Have you? You'll have to go on some sort of adventure sometime, see something new." He suggests.

"There's plenty of new things right here." I flirt, blushing. His only response is to nearly drop his chopsticks, going stiff, ears turning red. "A-anyway, what were you in Asia for? And where?"

"I'm not sure where _exactly_ , as I travelled _through_ much of it, but I stayed the longest in a small city in southern China. Even that was only a few months, though, before, well, I sort of.. turned around. Went back, though not the way I came."

"So you were just travelling?"

"I spent much of my early life simply travelling." He nods, sitting. He pops open his carton of lo mein, chopsticks hovering over the open top. I can't be sure if he's hesitating because eating with the mask is awkward or if my question has made him uncomfortable. I sit down on the bench, the bag and it's remaining contents between us. Like this morning, I really want to suggest he take off the mask, for his own comfort, but that's almost a worse idea than this morning would have been. Outside, where he has already shown himself to be uncomfortable, eating in broad daylight.. No.

"So was it fun to travel?" I ask, popping open my own lunch, general tso with white rice. Erik blinks, brought back to the moment.

"It was often very interesting, but for the most part it was a necessity."

"Like, a business thing?" I make sure to messily scoop some rice as I ask and take a sloppy bite. Erik's lips twinge in a suppressed smile, so I know it worked.

"You could call it a livelihood venture." He shrugs. "Have you really never left the state?" He asks, finally taking a bite of his own food.

"Yeah. I was born a couple towns over. Parents were pretty rooted to their house and their jobs, so there was never any need for me to leave until school, but after I got my general degree, I still didn't know what I wanted to do so I moved back."

"Did you ever want to travel?"

"When I was really, really little I wanted to go on wild fantasy adventures, but when I grew up I realized how happy I was to be right where I was, so.. not really, but kinda."

"And what of now?" I have to think about that.

"Now.. I want my house back. Sometimes I think that it'd be cool to take a road trip, just.. temporarily forsake everything else and just run. Go! Be somewhere else, anywhere at all! But I can't imagine actually _going_. I have too much to focus on, too much keeping me here. I don't mind, though." I shrug, stabbing some chicken. "There's a weird sort of.. dual expectations. Like, there's the perfect world, all-desires-filled, impossible expectations and hopes, and then there's more achievable hopes and dreams, things that are already in progress or whatever. Travelling fits more into the first one, for me." I ramble, taking bites of my food inbetween thoughts.

"Where does.. this.. fit in?" Erik asks, possibly flirting, from the way he looks at me sideways, a light grin on his face. I can imagine his eyebrows quirked up, one side of his mouth edging higher than the other.

"A little of both. But mostly the second, I think. What about for you?"

"A bit of both, but mostly the first. I have never had so much as this, and I must admit to struggling to conceive of it going on longer, or.. more."

"I think I get it." I nod. We're quiet for a while after that, both of us leisurely enjoying our meals. I finish mine first, and rifle through the bag to find my 'donut', a pastry that I think is fried and sprinkled in sugar. It's a fun little dessert, but even after that, I'm still hungry. Erik is still on his lo mein, only halfway through it.

"Is it okay?" I ask, worried that it's not up to his expectations.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, it's perfect. I apologise for being so slow. I.. forgot to eat for several days, and I do not want to disrupt our time together with sickness because I failed to take my time." He explains. "It is very satisfying, Christine. I may have to order from them myself, sometime."

"Oh, good." I nod, then scrunch up my face. "You forgot to eat for _several days_?" He flinches at my tone, somewhere between shock, concern, and panic.

".. yes."

"How did you forget to eat for that long? Are you okay?"

"I'm well. Ah, well enough." He corrects himself, lowering his carton to his lap. "I have a terrible habit of failing to eat when.. distressed. I also just don't get hungry when I should, many times. I am used to this. Don't worry."

"You were distressed? Was it.. Was it because I hadn't shown up in so long?" I have to ask, have to know if I caused this. It explains his state from last night, wobbly and sort of dreamy, unfocused. I thought it was _me_. Erik hesitates to answer, turning away.

"Yes. But I do not blame you. Please, don't blame yourself, either. I.. let myself get attached, too much, too soon. I was angry at myself for being so.. disappointed. Not at you for disappearing. I would not blame you if you had chosen to remove me from your life. It's probably the smarter thing to do." He explains, turning back to face me when he does.

"And why is that?" I raise an eyebrow. He talks like he's the worst thing in the world, sometimes, but I can't see why. My question seems to catch him off guard.

"I am not.." He starts, then stops. "I'm not.. good. For people. For you, or anyone. But especially someone like you."

"How is that?" I press, setting my donut down.

"I'm.. dangerous. Obsessive. Needy. Just.. unhealthy."

"Are you sick?"

"N-no, I mean in regards to other people. Or perhaps I am sick, in my mind. That would not be inaccurate."

"I don't see how.." I lean towards him, trying only to express my genuine appreciation of him. He's been nothing but kind and sweet and gentle since I met him, despite our awkward meeting.

"Then I've been hiding it well." He says, a tinge of bitterness behind his voice. "I.. greatly worry for the day I fail to hide everything."

"Well.. you don't have to hide. I mean- I'm not saying you have to open up about absolutely everything, but if you feel something, you aren't obligated to hide it. Explain it, and if it's really so bad, it can probably get worked through! But I'd bet you it's not as bad as you think. Everybody thinks they're unrelatable, and, well, I don't know the details in your case, but I would really, really stake a lot on the idea that we're not so different that we can't understand each other _at all_. Maybe some things _would_ be a struggle, but you never know until you reach out, right? Aw, but listen to me go, and there's all this garbage I can't let go of or talk about, either.."

"I would.. like to open up. I have not been provided many opportunities to. I.." He sighs. "I am afraid as well. Of myself, of hurting you, of ruining this."

"Me too. But if we're trying to understand, it can't go too badly, can it?"

"I would not underestimate this, but.. if you believe it to be so, I don't think I can disagree." He answers, eyes sad but hopeful. I don't think I'd noticed how sad he is. Sad, but not just down about something casual, sad in a sense of deep and prolonged unhappiness. I hadn't noticed because, when he looks at me, he seems so much the opposite. He smiles and it burns in his eyes, despite the gentleness of the rest of him. Now, it's that sadness, deep and dark and old, that shines through. I feel.. the same.

I've always been too empathetic. I cry when other people cry, and a lot of times I cry about other people's hardships even if they never do. I feel too much sympathy to hold it in, I guess. My mom always said my heart was too big for my own good, but right now it's more than that. The look is _familiar_ , the feeling is like a terrible old friend, easily recognizable, and it's a gut wrenching feeling to see on anyone else. I feel myself tearing up, and I pull away.

"I'm sorry-" I say before I can't say anything.

"Wh- what?" Erik says, trying to look at me. "What's wrong? Did I- Have I done something?"

"No- I'm just- I made myself sad again." I try to explain, my hands rubbing away the wetness in my eyes, but it just keeps coming. I feel like the more I try to bottle it up the worse it springs out. I feel a hand on my shoulder, my right shoulder, just above my flowers, and I pull my hands away from my eyes.

"You can.. you can let it out. Even if you cannot explain.." Erik offers, his right hand out and open, the ring there shining in the dappled sunlight. His eyes seem sharpened, pained. Did I do that? Did I make it worse? I _keep_ making it worse, and I know that I should probably pull away, for both our sakes, but, almost on an emotional autopilot, I reach out with both arms, and he pulls me the rest of the way to him, around the paper bag to his side.

I just cry, softly and quietly, into his shoulder, letting it out. I feel his arms across my back, his chin on my head, and feel safe like I haven't in a long time. It's not from any external threat or worry, I just feel so at ease, so at home here, right now. I'm not sure how, but we understand the same sadness, and until now, we've both, presumably, experienced it alone. But seeing it in his eyes, the sudden weight of it present in him, I know we're not anymore. At least for now, for this moment, if nothing else.

When the tears stop, I stay put, feeling a bit numb, physically, but content emotionally.

"I'm sorry." I mumble, pulling away.

"I do not mind." Erik says, hands lingering on my arms before setting them into his lap.

"I meant for getting your nice shirt all wet.." I correct him.

"Oh." He looks down to the soaked sleeve of both the shirt and his vest. "I do not mind that either. It's proof that you were here."

"Do you like that? Proof?"

"I can't say it doesn't help convince me that this is, somehow, real. That you are here, a real person, sharing this moment with me. I.." He hesitates, leaning away slightly. "I have been alone for a very long time. Always, truly."

"I'm here." I put a hand on his, reaching out slowly so I don't surprise him. But he smiles.

"I'm glad."


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6:

 **((thanks for all your encouragement, guys! hope I'm not rolling these out too fast for you all but I am positively** ** _inspired!_** **enjoy!))**

C-

"Would you mind if we moved inside? I'm.. unfortunately warm out here." Erik asks, after a long moment of peaceful quiet. I got a bit lost in the smell of the magnolias, the soft but perpetual wind making the leaves chirp overhead.

"Oh, sure! It did actually get a lot warmer out than I thought. Probably also a good idea to fridge the rest of the food, too. If you don't mind."

"Not at all." Erik smiles widely, standing. Together we pile in the empty cartons in on top of the full ones, and he picks up the bag, grunting with effort and surprise. "This is heavier than I had imagined. How did you _bike_ here with this? And when it was full?" He asks, impressed. I don't have a basket. I had to hold onto it with one arm, steering the bike with the other. I grin, shrugging.

"I'm just magic." I say it like it's a secret passed between just us two, conspiratorially. I pick up my bag, putting the strap over my shoulder on muscle memory.

"I should have guessed." He shakes his head, still smiling.

"I'll get the door." I say, and skip ahead, taking the stairs two at a time. I open the door and give a little bow, like a fancy butler might do.

"Thank you." He says, dipping his head before stepping inside. I close the door behind us. Erik puts the bag on the floor in front of his fridge, the small white machine almost entirely empty. It seems out of place, inherently wrong that it be so unfilled, but then I remember..

"Did you really not eat for, like, a week?"

"Woefully, yes. I forgot to sleep for even longer." He admits, embarrassed. He focuses on arranging the cartons so they fit in the narrow shelves. "I was.. very upset."

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long.." I pout, feeling guilty.

"You're fine! I didn't have all the details and I very much overreacted." He tries to wave it away, taking the blame.

"Well, you thought I was never coming back, right? I'd probably act the same way, if we're being honest."

"That is a _frightening_ thought if ever there was one." He stands, shutting the fridge. He puts his hands together, rubbing the thumb of his right hand across the knuckles of his left. He does that when he's nervous, it seems.

"It'd be scary and sad and confusing! I'd probably shut down entirely, actually.." I start off with a joking tone, but I am inevitably reminded that I've been there before. That is exactly what I do when I'm too sad, too alone. It's a familiar place to be for both of us I guess.

"I would never leave you, if I could help it. Worry not. This-" He gestures between us. "-is entirely in your hands."

"That's a lot of power over.. everything."

"I trust you to make responsible decisions. I will not _not_ opinionate, either, it's simply that the decisions are ultimately yours. I don't want to, to trap you." I nod. He fears having too much power, but how can I tell him I feel the same way?

"Aw. But I wouldn't want you to feel trapped or stuck either. If I was unbearable, I'd hope you'd tell me to leave, or something."

"I highly doubt _you_ could be unbearable." He says, about to add on when someone knocks at the door. He flinches, startled like a kid who's realised he had something to do just as his parents came home. "P-pardon me a moment." He gestures for me to wait, and I nod as he takes long strides to his front door, the one down to the shop. He only opens it a crack, though, quietly greeting someone through it.

I don't hear the other person, only Erik.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, and then shrinks as the other person answers. I hear the angry flicker of paper, but not the stranger's voice. "It hasn't been _that_ long-" He flinches as they appear to interrupt him. ".. I suppose that _is_ a small while.. I'm sorry, I've been unwell, if you would just come back tomo- No, no, I'm not _hiding_ \- Stop, wait-" And then he's pushed, not too roughly, out of the way by an older gentleman in a suit, who walks with a cane. He looks around but quickly notices me, a look of anger and suspicion turning to surprise and embarrassment.

"Oh." He simply states, Erik coming up behind him, towering over him.

" _Daroga_." He hisses, angry himself, his ears bright red.

"You were acting so suspiciously, what was I supposed to think? You should have just said you had a guest." He half turns to Erik, this 'Daroga', putting his arms out in indignation, explanation.

"What do you think 'please come back tomorrow' might possibly mean other than 'I am busy and you are being rude'?" He snarks, sneering. I giggle, this mood of Erik's being new to me. Erik visually fumbles, flipping between us with uncertainty. The man smiles as well, shaking his head.

"I apologise, Erik." He says, not sounding apologetic at all. Then he steps further into the room, hand out to shake mine. "Forgive me, my dear. I'm Erik's landlord and business partner, Nadir Khan. He's been failing to complete his orders for half a week now, and has been ignoring my nephew's attempts to communicate. He even had to close down the shop these past two days to try to keep up! I had to come see what had him so busy or.. unwell.. that he could not or would not work. But I digress, miss, I did not mean to interrupt.. you two." He explains, shaking my hand firmly. He's so much wider than Erik, and darker, too. He looks maybe middle eastern, dark but rich and healthy color skin, though his hair is white, showing his age. He is short, a little shorter than I am, and built for strength, his width being clearly all muscle. Erik, looming in the background, is tall and thin pale and almost yellow in tone compared to his landlord. The juxtaposition of the two of them is almost comical, especially given how familiar they seem with each other, to talk as freely and easily as they do.

"It's okay. The work thing is kind of my fault." He raises an eyebrow at this, sneaking a weird look to Erik, who blushes furiously, all the way from his ears to his jawline, or so I can see. I realize what that sounds like. "I- I've been sick and Erik was taking care of me w-while I recovered, that's all!" I blush myself, indignant at the supposition that we were, that I was, that I'm only- oh my gosh.

"I'm sorry for making assumptions, dear." Nadir?- Mr. Khan?- says, chortling. "I believe you. I also know my friend very well. He is not very good at personal interactions, such that I had no reason to believe anyone was here at all. He is a very antisocial fellow." He explains.

"Daroga!" Erik nearly bellows, hands fisted tightly at his side. "Will you _please_ leave?"

"Will you have time for _me_ tomorrow, monsieur?" He teases. "Yes, I will leave, but we have things we need to talk about. Namely, stop ignoring my emails." He points, cane in hand, toward the desk and the computer.

"I _apologise_ for failing to communicate, Daroga. It will not happen again. Now, _please leave_." He growls, practically begging.

"I leave, I leave." He says, wandering towards the door. To me, he turns and says, "Again, I apologise for the intrusion. It was, nevertheless, a pleasant surprise to meet you, miss..?"

"Christine." I say.

"Miss Christine. Enjoy your afternoon, children." He gives a sort of bow, and then disappears down the stairs. As he goes, Erik practically melts, anger and outrage falling away into mortification.

"I am _so very sorry_ for that, for him, I would never- He should not have- If I had been- Oooh.." He groans, fingertips burying in his hair, all curled on himself like an angular octopus having a panic attack.

"Hey! It's okay! It turned out all right!" I say, coming around the island counter to pat his arm. "You didn't know he'd show up, did you?"

"I _should have_." He says, shaking his head anyway. "We have an agreement. I may stay here, keep my shop and run it as I please, so long as I keep up with the work and check in with him every so often. If I do not, he comes to _chastise_ me."

"That's a weird agreement." I say flatly.

"Yes, well.. it is necessary, sometimes. If I am left unattended I.. well, I do what happened when I thought you were cutting me out."

"You stop functioning?"

"Yes." He sighs. "I have a backlog of work to do, now. Darius, it seems, attempted to mimic my work for a while, but he is not as fast as I am.. Luckily, none of these orders were terribly large or complicated, but now I _do_ need to step in for the ones that are.. I am so terribly sorry, Christine." He looks at me, and he seems small and tired and sad again.

"For what? I get it, work happens." I shrug.

"I do not want to send you away, but it's imperative I get to work on these as soon as possible, namely, now. Several of these are for _tomorrow_." He groans.

"Hey.. I can stay. I can be quiet and undistracting. I'd love to watch you work again. I can draw, or just listen to music. We don't have to be _doing_ things all the time. Like, together." Erik looks relieved.

"I would enjoy it if you stayed." He nods, uncurling from himself.

"Oh- speaking of music, I just realized I still have your phone charger. It's here in my bag."

"How are those related?" He asks, chuckling.

"I can have music on my phone, and new headphones too, and my phone's in my bag and I remembered I gave you your phone and then I remembered I _didn't_ give you the accessories, and the charger, at least, is important." He nods.

"I still.. I cannot believe you gave me a phone." He admits.

"It was free, so why not?" I shrug. "And you can load your email on there, too. Keep up with Mr. Landlord. By the way, he called himself 'Nadir Khan', right? Why'd you call him 'Daroga'?"

"Oh, that is.. something of a nickname, between us. It is a long story."

"Cool. Oh- also talking about music, why's yours all french?"

"I was born in France. It's what I knew when I was younger. It's familiar." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Oh. I hadn't mentioned that, had I?"

"Nope." I saw, in awe. I have a crush on a _foreign guy._

"Ah, well, there you have it." He laughs. "May we head downstairs?"

"We may." I nod, grasping the strap of my bag for emphasis. I have all I need. He opens the door and holds it for me.

"Very well, after you." I grin at his politeness, the smoothness with which he's recovered, and trot down the stairs. The work room is not terribly large, but it's plenty big enough for the two of us, with enough counter for two of us to work at too. I set my bag down on one half, and Erik slips out into the shop, presumably to grab some supplies. I pull out my sketchbook and get ready to draw, though I'm not sure what. I don't have any 'orders' myself, so there's not really any business I can do.. With a sigh, I take a look at my environment, hoping to find some inspiration. An interesting, a funny shape, anything.

But the room is sparse, purely functional, except for a cork board that spans the wall above the counter. There's a couple pages tacked up, probably with instructions, maybe a list or two, and then there's.. wait a second.

Oh my gosh. It's the drawing of the daffodils I gave him that very first day, all the loose sketches and warmups I'd managed to do before I startled him and we met. It's pinned at the right side of the board, still as neat and unmarked as it had been when I gave it to him. Did I really smudge it that much when I signed it? Goodness..

It feels like a year has passed since we met. So much has happened, both in the times we've been together and that terrible month we were apart. And that was only two days ago, already. It feels like weeks.

I smile at the drawing and return to my sketchbook, still unsure what to draw, but feeling more than okay with that. Erik returns carrying several bundles of wrapped flowers, setting them down carefully, as thoughtfully as he did that first day. He looks at me, eyes open and charming and pleased, getting to work on his art. I watch him for a while, focused on the grace of his hands and the dazzling care they take to make the flowers and the leaves come into harmony together. I watch him, and I know what I want to draw.

….

Erik doesn't tell me what Mr. Khan said to him, only that it'll never happen again. I don't want to pressure him, seeing the pressure Mr. Khan apparently already laid on him, but it stresses me out that I can't help. Then again, he seems to forget the added stress himself, and I do too, eventually.

Weeks pass, and I come by just about every other day before or after work. Slowly, he opens up, asking questions about things that seem common and boring to me, but must seem alien to him, given how he never leaves the building or the garden.

Which bothers me. He acts like he's not allowed to leave, and he refuses to tell me otherwise, blatantly dodging the conversation. I keep letting it go, but I know it makes him nervous and it feels like the answer is hanging over our heads, ready to drop at the worst possible moment. But I won't push him. He has questions I can't answer either, and it's not fair of either of us to not let the other keep their secrets.

Even with the odd situation, it's blissful when we hang out. When I come in the mornings, he works and I draw, or talk to him about all sorts of things. We can talk about anything and everything, or nothing at all. I show him my music, he shows me his. At first it's apparent how different our tastes are, how broad mine is and how narrow his are, but we grow to appreciate a lot of each others'. I teach him how to use his cell phone, something he'd literally never used before I handed him his, and he teaches me about plants, something I could never seem to keep alive before.

When I come over in the evenings, we have dinner and take care of his garden and the shop together. The more I do it under Erik's supervision, the less scared I am that everything will wither if I touch it. He gives me complete care of one of the plants, and I've kept it alive by myself for a week now, only having had to ask for assistance or opinion a couple times. Grooming the garden and nurturing his plants makes me want some of my own, to give my tiny apartment some life, but I worry that an enclosed environment with no windows would definitely be the end of anything I got. Erik assures me there are some plants that do well under electric light, if they give a certain kind of light- 'After all', he says, 'We have plants alive in the back of the shop and they have been there for many months!'. Still, I don't feel comfortable confining any living thing to that tiny apartment, which is why I haven't gotten a pet before.

"See if you may start a garden on the roof!" Erik suggests one night. He says it suddenly, chipper, a mood that's become more and more prevalent over the past few weeks. We talk about sad things, sometimes, but never for long, and there haven't been any instances of one or both of us really _needing_ it, either. It's not that we're ignoring our underlying problems together, it's more that they're not bothering us as much.

"What?"

"If your building has one of those modern, flat roofs, you would be able to have a small feeder, like mine, just higher, I suppose. I would have a rooftop garden myself, but my roof is gabbled. I know you don't own your building or have a special agreement with your landlord, but certainly you could at least petition for somesuch."

"I.. hadn't thought of that. I'll ask my landlord! Maybe it could be like a community thing.. Everybody could try to help out.. or maybe that would make a mess of things. Aw, but I can just imagine it, all alive and bright.. Too bad I can't plant a tree up there, though. I'd love to have a tree." Erik chuckles at the imagery, and with that thought in my head, I feel determined to make it happen. Not that I don't adore sharing the work of Erik's garden, just that I want to show that I can do it myself, and spread the life in the city. Erik seems proud that I want a garden so badly, now that I know what I'm doing at least a _little_. We continue weeding and pruning in silence, one of our phones playing one of our songs.

"You won't forget to come see me, now, will you?" He jokes as one song ends, but I've come to learn that sometimes his jokes hide very real concerns. He's got a small, hidden waver in his voice, his eyes not quite meeting mine. I lean up against him, head tilted across his shoulder.

"How could I ever forget my peerless tutor? Don't worry. I'll come crying back to you when I somehow kill everything." I joke. As if I'd ever leave him at all.

"You could never kill _everything_." He jokes right back, meaning it. Maybe it's just his faith in me as a sort of student, or maybe it's that spark of something more that we don't seem to talk about anymore.

I don't know what to call us. We're more than just friendly, but we haven't brought back any conversation of moving on or labelling our relationship, so are we anything more than friends? Do labels really matter if we're happy, anyway? I don't know, and I don't want to care as much as I do. But I do. I guess I just want clarity, after so many heartaches due to a _lack_ of clarity, to make sure neither of us is misunderstanding the other, but no moment really feels right to bring it up with him. No moment isn't not good enough that I can't bear to ruin it with questions..

We finish the planter, and I decide it's time for me to go home for the night. I want to draft an email to my landlord before I got to bed, and I should probably clean my own apartment just a little. We wash our hands of the dark soil, I collect my things, and I give Erik a deep hug before I go. As always, he emits this tiny sigh of contentedness, and I almost do the same. We've had many of these pleasant little moments of closeness, but every time I press my head against his chest, every time he tucks my head under his chin, every time we seem to breathe as one, it feels as magical as if we'd never done it before.

"See you." I say, turning away, bag in hand. I hate to go, but he hasn't offered to let me stay since that first time, and I would never impose myself anyway. I feel like he wants to offer, but is just as unsure as I am about where we stand and what we feel is acceptable in this early stage. So, I go.

"Until next time." He waves, watching me as I let myself out. I bike home as the sun sets, speeding through growing shadows and snippets of fading light, humming happily. I do my dishes from the morning, put away the food Erik packed from dinner, which will make a marvelous lunch tomorrow, and tuck myself in bed, setting my phone to play 'Fur Elise' on repeat.

The next day is wildly uneventful, all of my appointments going smoothly, Erik and I texting in between them. My lunch is, as predicted, perfect. My design presentations with a couple clients go well, one of them deciding today, the other asking for one more large revision before being satisfied. I work on the revision for the one, and set a date for the other to get their tattoo done. A couple teenagers walk in, asking for piercings, and they laugh and shriek and joke about their 'aesthetic choices', leaving satisfied. I think. So, a normal day. Well, it's normal until, in the middle of Meg and I talking about ideas for a new tattoo for her, Andre comes in.

"Christine?" He asks for me, leaning in. He never seems to actually come _in_ when I have a meeting in here.

"Yes?"

"There's a fella downstairs for you. He's got a big armful of flowers." He jabs a thumb behind him, and I gasp, turning to Meg, who's also got her mouth wide in surprise and hope.

"I'll be right down, thanks." He nods, giving me a thumbs up and moseying along. Meg and I jump to our feet, hands on each others' forearms.

"Is it him, is it him?" She asks, squealing.

"I don't know! Who else could be, here and with flowers?" I squeal back. "If it is, you have _got_ to meet him." I say, pulling her downstairs with me.

"Finally!" She says, letting me drag her.

He's never come to see me before, never ventured from his house, especially not in the middle of the day, but _really_ who else could it be? My only other real friend is Meg, and she's already here.

I see the flowers before anything else, rounding the corner entirely too fast.

"Erik?" I gasp hopefully, balancing myself out, but then I see the face, the height, the build, the _clothes_ , and I shrink back, knocking into Meg.

"Who's Erik?" Asks Raoul, his smile fading.

"... Awkwaaaard." Meg singsongs, hands on my arm.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7:

((this chapter means a lot to me- and if anyone has questions about a topic that comes up, please feel free to PM me to ask them! (don't worry it's not a bad thing, it's just probably unexpected) thank you!))

C-

"What are you doing here?" I ask, immediately, and purposefully ignoring his questions. "We- You- What are you _doing_ here?" I feel a lot of things, all coming up out of nowhere, fury being the fastest and loudest.

"I wanted to see you.. It took a while to track you down, but here I am!" He smiles, hopefully presenting me with his bouquet of flowers, which is truly massive, as Andre said it was, but from my time with Erik I know they'll die in an evening. I backhand them out of his hands, which earns only a "Hey!"

"Why are you here now? After all these years?"

"Hey, I didn't even know you _moved_ , Christine. Why didn't you tell me?" He seems disappointed, but I only get angrier.

"Maybe I didn't tell you because you _broke up with me_ and then proceeded to ignore all my attempts at talking while my life fell apart around me! You didn't even-" I want to scream, and maybe I will, but later. I take a breath. I'm at work right now. "I need you to leave."

"I just got here! I promise, I only want to talk-"

"I'm at work, Raoul." I glare at him, turning and pulling Meg gently with me. "Remember? How I earn my own living? Yeah. That's where we are." I sneer, and then I'm gone up the stairs, leaving him in our downstairs lobby, Firmin at his post and at a loss of what to do. I don't hear Raoul following us, or else I'd have to turn and deck him. After all his _bullshit_ , after everything he did, I cannot believe him, showing up now, seven years later. That, that pretentious _ass_! I froth until we make it up to the meeting room, where I sit down with Meg.

And then I cry. All my feelings just bubble out of me, and I don't even have time to _try_ to hold it all in before it's out. Meg panics and hugs me, and it's honestly the best thing she could have tried to do. I break down on her shoulder, into her fancy leather jacket, ashamed but completely unable to stop. I try to explain to her, but it comes out garbled, choked, _wrong_. I want to scream in despair, want to punch Raoul in his stupid pretty face, want Erik to be here and make all these horrible feelings go away, even if I don't know how he'd possibly do that. I thought they were already _gone_ but here I am.

"Hold on, baby, I got this." I hear Meg say, and she rests me on the lounge couch, over on my side, unable to sit up, or maybe just unwilling. I hear ruffling and fidgeting through my haggard breathing, until it stops, and then I hear Meg speaking to someone else, but I don't know who. "Hey, you don't know me, but Christine needs you, kay? Here you go."

And then there's a phone, _my_ phone placed on my ear, somehow balanced perfectly so I can hear-

"Christine? Christine, what's wrong?"

"Erik?" I inhale, hand flying to phone so I can sit up. Meg just pats my shoulder. "Why'd you-"

"You just kept sayin' his name. Thought this is what you wanted." She shrugs. I didn't _realize_ I was-

"Christine? Hello?" Erik's voice grows more desperate on the other side.

"I'm here, 'm sorry, I-" My throat shuts on me again, a sob running through me.

" _Christine?_ "

"I'm fine, I'm sorry- someone showed up at work and I-" I gasp, still reeling, still unable to _think_. "I'm not handling it well. Meg called you."

"I thought so, a-about Meg, anyway. Who showed up? Are you in danger? Should I-" He stops, unsure what to do. His own panic almost forces me to overcome mine. I try, I try.

"An old boyfriend. He-" I go into a round of sobs, completely unable to speak. The things he _did_. The things he didn't do, but should have. It's too much to remember.

"Hush, love, hush, it's fine, I promise, please, please just _breathe_." He begs, trying to be strong.

"I'm sorry.." I cry, brokenly. Meg strokes my hair.

"Don't apologise for having feelings, Christine. I- I am so sorry you feel this way- that he made you- If I ever see him-" He growls this last part, all fury, almost frightening. "Oh, Christine.." He whispers my name. "How can I help you?"

"Just hearing you made it better- it- it doesn't sound like it but it did."

"I- I could tell you about the wreath I'm making." He offers.

"I'd love that." I say after a moment. He talks about the order, the meaning of the flowers, even little things like the weave he's using to keep it together. He speaks slowly and with confidence, clear and concise but smoothly, measured. I almost find myself falling asleep, it so relaxes and distracts me. I almost forget the reason he was called. Almost. When he's done, he asks,

"How do you feel?"

"Better. I'm still scared he's out there, but I think I could face him if I had to. Oh, but Meg.." I look up at her, having almost forgotten her original reason for being here.

"Hey, you're fine. It's actually really nice to hear your guy talk. Don't worry about my appointment, babe, we can reschedule." She says, helping me sit up, brushing a strand of my hair from my face.

"Would you like to come over? I know you were just here, but if it would help you to speak of it.. or even the phone. Anything you like, Christine. I can order your favorite pizza.. or have Darius get us, what is it, ice cream?"

"I'd like to come over, yeah. Pizza would be great, if.. if you don't mind. I'll pay you back, it's my turn anyway." Meg hands me a tissue just in time for my nose to start running. I'm not even sure where the tissue _came_ from, but I take it, just glad to have her and Erik's support.

"Don't you fuss about a _pizza_. When will you be over?"

"I'm her last of the day, so she's comin' over now." Meg says for me, while I blow my nose.

"Excellent." I can hear him even though Meg took the phone from me. "Take care." He says to us both, probably.

"Nice to meet you!" Meg chirps, and hangs up. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up a little. You'll feel better." I just nod, numb. She guides me to the bathroom, wets a paper towel and washes away my tears for me, like I'm a child. I'm grateful, though. I do dry my own face, letting her toss out the wet towel. "Let me walk you out at least. I know you got a ride."

"Okay." I nod. She helps me gather up my stuff from the meeting room and then she heads downstairs to see if Raoul- to see if _he's_ still there. She waves me down after a moment, and I do so with my head down, feeling embarrassed for the beginning of a breakdown I had here. Firmin saw everything, but at least there weren't any waiting clients. But Firmin doesn't judge me or tease me. He only looks at me with concern and asks,

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, just a dumb boy." Meg says for me, again. I never told her the full story, but I guess she's seen and judged enough for herself. "She's just gonna head home for the day. I was her last appointment anyway."

"Feel free to take the day off tomorrow if you need, Christine." Firmin says, nodding. He's normally the stricter one about time and management and coming to work and days off, but I guess I look just pathetic enough to have earned some pity even from him. I nod a thank you to him and let Meg pull me out the front.

The bike rack is around the side, tucked into an alcove in the alley, a little unconventional but exceptionally safe from theft. Can't steal what you can't see. Meg watches me unlock the bike and put my helmet on, and walks me back out to the street.

"You gonna be okay?" She asks. "He really shook you up."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. I thought I was over all of.. that part of my life, but I guess I'm not as over it as I thought."

"Your boy Erik's got you, though. Your favorite pizza, he said." She grins, trying to get me to smile. It works, but temporarily, and I can't form a response. "He called you 'love'. Did you catch that?"

"He did? I didn't- did he really?"

"I think so. These ears were made for catching platitudes of adoration and romance." She shakes her head, ringlets of hair and hoop earrings jostling.

"Oh my gosh." I say, now feeling even _more_ , but at least this one is a positive one.

"Have fun with that, girl. Text me, or call me, if you need to. I am always here for drama." She pats my hand on the bike handle, and walks away.

"Thank you, Meg. I'll text you." I call, voice still thin, after her, and then I trot my bike and me down the street a ways, wanting to make sure I'm not going to cry again before I try to actually ride it. A few streets down, just as I'm ready to hop on, I hear someone call me. I turn to see Raoul, arm up, calling out. I stiffen and try to hop up, but he's here, in front of the bike, before I can.

"Wait, please!"

"Why _should_ I!?" I yell, tears ready to spring up and out.

"Please, I just want to talk, Christine-"

"What _about_? How you left me? How you broke up with me- _called off our engagement!_ \- just because you hadn't listened to me throughout all of us dating? Is that what you want to talk about? Or maybe it's how you didn't show up to my father's funeral, how you left me alone through the whole process while on some shitty cruise!" I snarl, threatening to run him over with my bike. He flinches, but otherwise stands his ground, saying nothing. "How.. how _dare_ you show up now?"

"I didn't- I never meant- Christine, I'm so sorry, for everything, for all the things I wasn't there for, for everything I said, in ignorance and in malice-"

"Don't talk fancy to me! You- You!" I wrench my bike away from him, and stride away. He follows, like a disobedient dog padding after its master, tail between its legs. The difference is that I'd forgive a dog.

"I'm so sorry, Christine. I didn't _know_ , didn't understand- wasn't ready to understand-" I stop, stomping fiercely, making him jump again. I stare at him for a moment, but he just stares back, taking all of my anger.

"Why didn't you _say_ that, then, instead of willfully ignoring literally everything I said about.. about it and me.. for four _years_ , Raoul. I was open from the beginning about it and you.."

"I didn't _want_ to understand. I was a kid- stupid and selfish and I will spend our _lives_ apologising, Christine. I want to understand now, I'm ready to, I want to try, please.."

"No. No, I- I spent too long crying about you. I may still _hurt_ because of you, but everything else.. I've moved _on_."

"Th- that's fine, Christine, but I still do want to talk-"

"And I don't. We had four years of talking that you didn't listen to. I messaged you for over two years after that, 'just wanting to talk'. It's been another five since I gave up. I'm done with you, and everything to _do_ with you."

"Christine, we were going to get _married_ \- doesn't that mean anything?" I almost laugh at that.

"Raoul. We were going to get married. And then you ignored me for two years. I have a _lot_ of feelings on the matter, and I do not want to share any of it with you. Not now. Not anymore. Now, if you will _please_ excuse me, I'm expected _elsewhere_." I spit, and start walking. Again, he follows, questioning:

"Elsewhere?"

"Yes. _Erik_ is waiting for me." I hiss his name, hoping it stings. It must, the way he gasps and nearly stops. But he doesn't, not for long. "Go away, Raoul."

"I still love you, Christine."

"And maybe I would still love you, Raoul, if things were different. But that's not the world we live in, is it?"

"Do you love him, this Erik, this man you're so happily running to?" He calls me out, anger seeping into his voice.

"I like him."

"Do you 'like' him more than you loved me?" He persists, now bitter.

"Yes." I hiss, the word burning my throat, my eyes hard and set and glaring. Raoul stops, but I don't. I give a short run and hop onto my bike, pedalling away, furious. I take alleys and sidewalks, even though that's technically illegal, hoping that if he chooses to follow me in whatever fancy car-of-the-week he has, he won't be _able_ to. I know this city like I was born here. He's a stranger, an outsider. Normally, I'd be ecstatic to welcome a new person here, but not him.. Not him.

I nearly toss my bike into the rack, too angry, the rack and the bike both rattling. I tear off my helmet, throwing it down with a solid _-crack-_. I struggle to lock my with shaking hands and renewed tears. Behind me, I hear a car, and though I haven't so much as laid eyes on it, I know, I _know_ it's him. I slam the lock shut and turn around. Indeed, he's standing here, on _my_ street, in my way of where I want, no, where I really _need_ to be.

"I'm not done." He says, pleading but firm.

"I am. I don't know what else you want me to say."

"I don't.. I want to make things right between us. I feel.. I am so, so sorry for what I did to you. I want to apologise, properly, to show you that I regret it. To maybe.. take away some of the damage."

"Well, you can't. And even if you could, I don't want you to. Everything you've done and choose to do from deciding to ignore me and on is _stained_ , Raoul. I.. I _do not_ forgive you. Maybe one day I will. But it won't be for your sake." I say, harshly, but I mean every word. "Now, my friend, my real friend, is waiting for me."

"Christine, _please_ -" He starts to beg, but I square my shoulders.

"So help me _god_ , Raoul, if you don't get out of my way I will break your nose!" My hands are curled in fists, and I wonder if I even _could_ do something as violent as that, but I know that if I could, I would. At least in this moment, I really would.

"I'll text you.." He says, stepping aside.

"New phone. Shove off." I say, and walk past him, never looking back. As far as I know, I disappear into the shadows of the alley, hopefully forever for him. I make it to the gate at the back before I start to break down again, fumbling hands unable to dislodge the latch. I want to beat it open, but I am too weak to do that, for one thing, and I could never actually bring myself to break or damage something that wasn't mine. I feel stuck against the gate, until it swings open from the inside, Erik suddenly appearing.

"Christine-" He has time to say before I collide with him. I nearly fall over, nearly knock _him_ over, but he catches us, thin frame always surprisingly capable. "Christine, Christine.." He says my name, over and over, holding me tightly. "What _happened_?" He asks, but he doesn't give me time to answer, scooping me up. I let myself cry against him- what else can I do?- and he shuts the gate, carrying me up the stairs and inside to safety and security.

Erik sets us down on the couch, rocking me gently. He doesn't ask any questions, doesn't try to make promises or beg me to stop, just lets me go. He hums a little bit, and I hear him straining with emotion, but I don't know how to force myself to stop and can only let myself keep on, let it run its course.. Eventually my sobs at least relax so that I can breathe properly, and then they stop almost entirely.

"Feel any better?" He asks, his voice coming from just above my head.

"Yeah, actually. I'm sorry for breaking down like that, I swear I thought I was done at the parlor.."  
"But he followed you." He growls. "I saw you confront him from the window.."

"I hoped he wouldn't be able to follow me. I'm not sure how he did."

"It doesn't matter. If he ever steps foot in my shop, on my _street_ again, I.. I don't know _what_ I'll do."

"That's okay. I told 'im I'd break his nose." Erik laughs at this.

"I don't doubt it for a second." I can hear his smile, still not looking up at him. "What.. I hope you don't mind me asking, but what did he _do_?"

".. a lot of things." I say. "It's a long story, but I think it's one I can tell, if you want to listen." It's the big one, the thing I've been afraid of talking about this whole time, but if I don't tell him now, I'll hold it in forever, and I'll never know for sure if he'll understand..

"I would enjoy that very much, if it would be of use to you." He says, though I know he's deeply curious too.

"Well.. Raoul- that's his name- we were friends when we were little. I'm talking, like.. second grade. His family moved to our district, getting a fancy big house on some hill there. We were friends almost instantly, and he was charming, even as a seven-year-old, and soon we collectively had a lot of friends. Well, he went back and forth between public and private school for a long time, his parents tryin' to get him to choose to stay in private school. It sucked, because the years he wasn't in public school, all our friends mysteriously vanished, and I was alone.

I had my parents, though, and I like to think that they were my best friends anyway, but I did miss him when he was gone. Then, in high school.. we started dating. He wasn't the first kid I dated, but he was the first one I.." I hesitate here, extremely embarrassed.

"The first one.. what?"

"The first and only one I got a _tattoo_ for. I got his name, sideways, in really swoopy cursive, on my thigh, because I thought it was _so_ much better than a 'tramp stamp'.. I was a pretentious jerk back then."

"Hardly. You were a child." He laughs once, shortly.

"Yeah, well, I got it when we were _engaged_." He immediately quiets, everything going still.

"..Oh."

"Yeah. My parents approved, we'd been dating for three years at that point, even if they wished we'd wait til we'd both gone to college, but we were so eager.. His parents were _pissed_. They hated me. I wasn't rich enough, wasn't cultured enough, my art wasn't pretentious enough.. or something. But he was determined to marry me, and they were going to allow it."

"So, why didn't you? Marry, I mean." He asks. And here's the hard part.

"The same reason lots of other relationships didn't work out. He wanted something.. to _do_ something.. that I didn't. He wanted- he was waiting for marriage. I'm not- I didn't- still don't want.."

"..Intercourse." Erik fills in, and I feel him and me both turn warm. I'm embarrassed I can't even be mature enough to talk about it flatly, but it's so.. horrifying to me, even in name.

"Yeah. I'm asexual, and pretty much against trying anything at all. Personally, of course! I'd never try to police someone else, I just.. it's not for me. I know because I tried. I tried so hard to want it.. I didn't want to say anything about it, ever, if I could but.." So, here it comes. Rejection, or repulsion, or who knows what. Nobody ever seems to get it. Everyone thinks I'm broken, thinks something is wrong with me.. I mentally brace for impact. Erik is a wonderful person, one of the sweetest I've ever met, but how far will that carry us? Surely, this is the end of our happy times together..

"What is that word?" Erik asks.

"What.. asexual?" I pull away, looking up at him. He doesn't seem angry or hurt or betrayed.. just curious.

"Yes. What does it mean?"

"It just means I don't feel.. that kind of attraction to anyone. Like being bi or pan or gay.. I'm just not attracted to anything like that. And, personally, I don't want to, ah, engage anyone like that, either. Some people like me _will_ , but that's their choice, but.. You're not angry?" I ask, sitting back, thoroughly confused, but feeling.. hopeful.

"Not at all!" He lights up. "Oh, Christine, I did not know there was a _word_ for that!"

"You mean, you-" I can't finish the sentence, I'm too blindsided.

"Feel the same!" He nods, finishing for me. "I thought- I was certain I was just broken, yet _another thing_ wrong about me but- but-" He puts a hand to the side of his head, like he's trying to contain his thoughts.

"But there's nothing wrong with you!"

"At least one thing less.. I was worried for a day to come when you- but if neither of us- so much _simpler_.." He mumbles, thinking out loud, and so relieved.

"I was so scared you'd hate me- I mean most of my romantic interests have in the past, so-"

"Why would I ever hate you at all? You could set fire to a _city_ and I would think you perfection still." He exclaims, eyes wide.

".. you think I'm perfect?" I can't help but gasp.

"Of course!" He says, standing excitedly, my hands in his. I stay seated on the couch, looking up at him in awe. "My dear, you are the most perfect flower this earth has ever seen.." I can't believe what I'm hearing, and the joy of the moment overwhelms me, tears bubbling up and out again. He crouches back down, gripping my hands with fear. "Ah, have I overstepped my boundaries?"

"No, I just- I imagined telling you that and everything ending, and I- I was so scared! Everyone else- But I guess you're not like 'everyone else'.." I wipe away my tears on my forearm.

"This will _never_ end, should you so choose.." He says, putting his hands on my cheeks. So confident, so close.. I wrap my hands around his wrists, feeling that to return the gesture fully would, maybe, cause some problems, make him uncomfortable.. But he looks at me so _gently_ , so focused on _me_ , but never too fiercely or frightening. Always with this sense of.. deferment, respect, _something_. I know I know the word... I don't know what to do, what to say, so I lean forward and kiss him, the mask's upper lip slightly in the way, but I don't care, holding onto his wrists as I plant my lips on his, porcelain or otherwise. His hands come away from my face in shock, and we both fall backwards on the couch a little ways. I don't let it deepen too far, letting the fall separate us, not wanting to push him too far in a couple of senses or scare him, I mean, I'm already scared myself, scared I've gone too far.

"Y-y-you..?" He blinks, stunned.

"..too much?" I ask, my voice tiny.  
"Twas unexpected, to be sure.." He says, breathless. "I.. that _happened_ , yes? I did not _imagine_ that we- that you-"

"No, I _definitely_ kissed you." I nod.

" _Heavens_.." He murmurs, and leans back the rest of the way on couch, eyes wide.

"Should I not have?" I ask, still over him.

"I.. do not know how to react. I never- I hadn't thought- wouldn't have dared _imagine_ -" He goes limp, arms splayed across the back of the couch. I don't know what to do or say either, scared that I've somehow still managed to ruin things between us, so I just lay down on the empty space beside him, still safe between him and the back of the couch, my head on his shoulder. After a moment, he seems to realize I'm still here, and puts his closest arm over my shoulder. "I apologise. I did not imagine such a thing to be a possibility."

"It wasn't too much, was it?"

"No. Well, perhaps, but I would count that fault as my own, not yours. I- I am struggling to understand. H-how did we get here? How did this happen?" He sounds mystified.

"I was telling you about my garbage ex-boyfriend."

"Oh. Yes, yes that _was_ what was happening. Did you finish your story?" He seems dazed, and I can't help but chuckle.

"No, I- we got distracted."

"Yes, that I remember." He nods, still breathless, but seeming to be reconnected with reality. "I- I'm so sorry for my reaction. Would- would you care to finish your story now?"

"Sure. So.. he reacted the way I thought you would, the way everyone else has when they expect.. things. And this was a week before our wedding. He.. he made some comment about finally 'sealing the deal' or something and I got really grossed out. I'd explained to him, time and again, how it- how _I_ worked, and when he said that, I told him I wasn't going to be ready for that, that I wouldn't _ever_ be ready for that, and he just. He stared at me, like it was the first time I ever mentioned it. And he exploded at me. He was so outraged, so.. expectant. He tried to talk me into it, and I wouldn't budge, I just couldn't. And he called off our wedding, just like that. Wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't take messages or emails or anything.

I went off to college to try to forget him, and then my dad got sick, like.. really sick. He'd always been _ill_.. We'd expected him to pass away when I was in grade school, but he somehow outlived my mom.. Anyway, I moved back to take care of him, and it was like that for a couple years and then he _died_. I was alone. He and mom were my only family, and when Raoul called it off with me, all our friends took his side, so I was really, really alone. I reached out to him, I just.. needed _someone_ to help me through things but.. I was alone.

I sold the house, or whatever, went back to school, and moved here. Been trying to forget him ever since.." I finish with a sigh.

"That _bastard_.." I hear Erik growl again, under his breath. He turns to lay on his side, facing me. "I am so.. so terribly sorry he put you through that- I can't imagine how he- why anyone would- what he could have been _thinking_ -"

"It's okay. I mean, it's not, like, at all, but I'm.. It's going to turn out okay. It feels nice to let it out, especially now that I know you get the weirdest part about it."

"Honestly, I am most certain it's everyone _else_ in the world that's strange in _that_ regard. I do not- cannot understand it."

"Me either. I tried. I just.." I shake my head.

"Agreed." Erik says, referring to my head shake. I giggle. "I also do not understand how that _boy_ could just.. toss you away like trash. Four _years_.."

"I can kinda see how.. It's like that one time we talked about expectations and hopes. There's the dreamworld expectations and then there's real life expectations. I guess Raoul got his dreamworld hopes mixed with his real world hopes. I _did_ explain it to him, a lot. I don't know what more I could have done.."

"I do not know either. I'm not sure there's anything you _could_ have done to make him understand, if you were open about it for years and he _still_ failed to understand.." He rolls his eyes.

"That's the worst part about today. He- he was all like 'I'm ready to understand, I just wanna talk!', and- and I just wanted to punch him so bad for taking so long to get there.. but I also did want to explain things to him. Not because I wanted to give him a second chance, really, but because I wanted closure. To.. to beat him over the head with it, just say everything all over again, because nothing's changed. I want him to realize I was _always_ this way. I do also want to let go of it, forgive him more or less, but for my sake."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, forgiveness is when you let something go, right? I just want to let go of being angry at him, which basically constitutes his forgiveness. I don't, like, want him in my life, but to actually _move on_ would be so.. nice." I close my eyes, feeling worn out.

"I understand." Erik mumbles, and I feel a hand of his wandering through my hair. We're quiet for a moment, nothing to really say.

"Did our pizza ever show up?" I ask, opening my eyes. His eyes widen.

"Darius was supposed to bring it upstairs when it did.." He says, sitting up. "Shall we investigate?" He offers an arm, ever the gentleman. I take it, slipping the crooks of our elbows together.

"Sure." I smile, happy and unburdened and just.. just so happy. I can tell from the twinkle in Erik's golden eyes that he feels the same. The thing I was most afraid of breaking us apart has somehow managed to bring us closer together, and stronger, too.


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8:

 **(( forgive me))**

C-

The pizza is actually sitting on the counter, not far from where we were on the couch. We reason that Darius must have brought it, saw us in whatever state we were, and promptly excused himself from the scene. The kid sure does put up with a lot, but.. Oh, well.

As promised, it's my favorite white cheese and spinach pizza, a combination I'd never thought I'd enjoy but fell in love with anyway. It took Erik a couple tries to warm up to it, and he may never love it as much as I do, but he seems to enjoy it, despite the mess the too large spinach always makes.

Given the heaviness of the conversation we just had, or its potential for heaviness, I both really want to keep the ball rolling and talk about the masked elephant in the room and want to give us a break, let us have a softer, lighter moment. It's been a heavy day in general, or at least this last part, and I don't really think either of us _needs_ another potential stressfully back-breaking moment. I feel, more than ever, that if and when I bring it up, we'll be able to talk through it, but is now the best time for that specific conversation? To ask, or even suggest he be able to reveal himself? Now? No. No, not quite.

"So are we an item now?" I ask through a mouth of crust, instead.. Erik snorts in surprise, a hand moving to his mouth to hurriedly hide his shock.

"Y-you- we-" He blinks. "We _what_?"

"An item. A couple. A thing. A relationship." I list, trying not to laugh at his shock.

"You want.. with me?" He act truly befuddled.

"I did kinda just kiss you.. Is it still too soon to be calling us anything?"

"I.." He sets his pizza down on his plate, and then the plate on the counter. "I would not call it 'too soon'. I would call it.. me being wildly unprepared, in any case."

"Prepared for what?" I ask, noting his nervous tick, his playing with the silver and blue ring on his right hand.

"For when you eventually leave. To.. to be and act with such emotion- to be even closer- I worry that I will not be able to let you leave when the time comes.." He says, turning to lean on the counter rather than face me across it, all the happiness of the moment prior sapped away. He is cold and distant, that ancient sadness perpetuating through him.

"Why do you still think I'm going to leave? I won't- I don't want to, anyway. Are you saying you're going to have to have me leave? Don't you.. don't you want to be with me?" I mumble the last part. I did not think _this_ conversation would turn so harsh so quick..

"Of course I do! That is the _problem_! I love, I _adore_ the time I spend with you. I want nothing more than to continue on, in whatever way most pleases you, but I know.. all good things end. Especially for me. I do not say so to be dramatic or to cause problems, it's simply the pattern of my life.. and you are the _best_ thing in my life. When you leave, and life will assuredly force you to leave somehow and someday, it will be the worst loss I ever experience." He shudders.

"But I don't want to! I wanna be with you just as much, and nothing can change that!"

"I know of several things that can change that." He says flatly, bitter, but is it at me? I can't tell. I pound a fist on the counter. He doesn't move, doesn't react.

"Bullshit. I'm not leaving. _Nothing_ can change that. And- And I'm kinda insulted you think I'm so easily swayed, that, that I would leave you just like that. How could I forget all of this, all of you? Why would I want to?"

"Please.. can.. can we not discuss this now?" He asks with a shaking breath, turning further away from me.

"Erik.. it can't be avoided forever. It's obviously stressing you out, and letting that go unspoken is only going to make things harder for the both of us. I wanna be with you. Right now, I'm so certain I want to live the rest of forever with you, okay, and that doesn't mean I want a ring or a ceremony or something, I just.. Like you said, I want to keep going the way we have been. I just want to know where we stand.. If you want to be with me like I want to be with you, then what's the problem? What's so terrible it's gonna drive us apart?"

"Me. I will. I always do. I never _mean_ to, it's never, _ever_ my intention, but I always do. I ruin _everything_. It's my curse, my _poison_." He snarls, shaking. "I am an inevitable _end_ to all things decent and good."

"Erik, you.. you're not some rabid animal. It's not like you're just gonna suddenly turn on me, are you?"

"..No." He sighs.

"Then why can't we work through it? I thought, I thought _for sure_ you'd reject me for my thing, my big reveal. It had literally _never_ gone well for me before.. but look, we found something in common through it! Maybe I won't immediately understand whatever it is that you have, but I will try, and even if I never succeed, that won't stop me from loving you and wanting to be there anyway. I don't completely understand lots of things that I like!" I try to explain, try brighten him, but he only slowly looks up, turning his head.

"Love?" He asks, turning somehow paler. Did I say love? Did I say I _love_ him? I think I did.. Oh my god. I do. I _do_.

"Y-yeah. Yeah." I shake at first, but the more I realize it, the better it feels.

"You.. you _love_ me?" He pushes off the counter, shoulders tensed.

"Yeah. I do. I.. I hadn't realized it until right now, but I think I have for a while.. Is that okay?" I ask, not ready to ask the _other_ question, the one I hadn't thought I'd ask ever again: do you love me too?

"You are.. impossible.." He breathes, my unspoken question going unanswered. "How- You don't even _know_ \- I don't _understand_.." He whines, stepping back until he hits the wall, and then he slides down the floor with his arms over his head.

"Erik?" I nearly shout, and dash around the counter to be with him. He's shaking, hands curled and buried angrily in his hair. Oh god, is he crying? "Erik, what's wrong, what did I do? I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, no _please_ don't apologise-" He says, hands coming away from his head, out to me. His eyes are wet, and I can see streams of tears coming down under his mask. "I- I simply never thought- what did I do to trick you like this?" He shakes his head, breath catching.

"You didn't trick me, Erik. Why do you think you're.. unlovable?" That's the only word for it. That's how he acts, how he's always acted, and I hoped it would go away but..

"Because I am! I should be- I don't _deserve_ -"

"I decide who deserves my love. I decide that _you_ do. Are you saying I'm wrong?" I don't mean to sound so bitter, so confrontational, but I do.

"Yes- no- I- You don't know all of what I've done, where I've been, oh, the things, Christine, the things I've _done_.. You would know me for a monster if you knew.." He sobs, hiding in his hands again. I put mine on his shoulders, trying to be as supportive of him as he was of me, but I don't _understand_ , what's _wrong_?

"Then tell me, so I can prove to you it doesn't matter. Where you've been, things you've done, those are who you are _now_.."

"I can't.. I can't tell you or it will ruin everything!"

"According to you we're already headed for disaster.. What do you want, Erik? Do you want me to stay? Do you want me to leave?" I feel ready to cry again myself, so confused. How did we get here? Where did my grasp of the situation _go_? Erik looks up at me, equally bewildered, his expression like a child called up to perform rocket science and _completely_ caught out of his depth. But then something changes, some resolve sets and hardens.

"You need to leave." He says, voice clear and sure.

"What?" I nearly screech, pulling back.

"Please, for both our sakes, you must leave. Yes, it's the only way, now, while I can see clearly.. It's safest this way." He mumbles, eyes unfocused.

"Erik, that doesn't- you're not making any sense!" His eyes snap back to me, and for the first time ever, I'm uncomfortable trying to hold his gaze.

"Before everything is completely ruined.." He says, standing, pulling me with him. "I am sorry, Christine, but it's for our- for your own good. This is in your best interest." His hands are on my shoulder, but they're too firm, too harsh.

"Like hell it is! What do you think you're- Erik!" I push against him, hoping to shock him out of this bizarre state he's in, but he just pushes me on. It doesn't hurt, physically, but I feel my heart aching as we go. I'm not _ready_ for this! "Don't you dare push me away, Erik! You're just fulfilling your own self-destructive prophecy! I _don't_ want to leave! Nothing you could tell me would make that change!"

"You don't know that." He says, grabbing my bag.

"Neither do you!"

"On the contrary, I have an entire _life_ that informs me of the outcome. It's better this way, sooner, rather than later. It was foolish to let it go on this long." His voice is cold as he sets the strap of my bag on my shoulder for me, then continues to point me toward the door. "This is better, I promise."

"No." I sob, angry at him, for thinking this, for _choosing_ this.

"Yes." He whispers with finality, and I lose control of myself. I melt against him, let him guide me, somewhat forcefully, out the door, down the stairs, past the gate.. Everything is blue-gray, somber and sad and ashy, like the world's already burned down around me, and I'm just waking up to the aftermath. The gate creaks behind me, and I turn just in time to see one last glimpse of his face, his mask, his eye. There is no opportunity for hesitation there. The gate shuts and I hear, "Goodbye, Christine."

I just fall to my knees. So suddenly, so unpredictably.. it's over. I hear things crash and break, I hear the slamming of hands on wood and yelling and I don't even _know_ what else, but it's distant, like on a hazy t.v. in another room. I feel completely numb, empty, barren. I was so happy, and he was too, so what _changed_? Is he so sure he can't be loved that me saying it caused him to panic? I didn't even consciously realize until that very moment, and I don't regret saying it, don't regret trying to talk through things, but I can't understand how one thing led to the other. I expected resistance. I expected difficulty. I did _not_ expect him to.. break up with me.

And it hits me that that's what this is. We were almost a solid _something_ , call us lovers, call us a couple, call us anything, but we were almost there, already were there, in some senses, and now it's _gone_? It doesn't make sense and here it is. Here we are, here _I_ am, alone again.

I push myself to my feet in a daze. I guess I need to go home, to my empty, tiny apartment, with no plants and no books and no _Erik_. I wander out towards the bike rack, but I consider leaving it there, forgetting about it, shutting this whole thing out. It would give me an excuse to come back, too. I don't intend to leave it, Erik _or_ the bike, here. This can't be the way it _ends_.

"Christine?" Another new sound presents itself, from far away. I turn to find the source. It's Raoul. My knee-jerk reaction of anger brings me back to clarity, just a little bit.

"I still don't want anything to do with you." I say, my voice harsh and pained. I wish I was stronger than this.

"I know. I just.. I don't know. I can't stop thinking about you."

"Congratulations." I gripe.

"Christine, what happened in there? You look.. well, not the best. Worse than I sent you in.." He comments, still following me.

"I'm not entirely sure, Raoul, and it's not your business anyway." I reply snidely. Please, just let me be..  
"Christine.." He only says my name once, like he used to, when he knew I was breaking down, and instead of comforting me like he wants, it infuriates me.

"He broke up with me, okay!? I- I don't even know _why_. He wouldn't explain it, just.. said it was better this way and pushed me out. Are you happy? Happy that I'm all alone and defenseless and vulnerable?"

"No! I.. I hate seeing you like this. I hate knowing I did this to you, too, once upon a time. I just want to help." He begs, and I let myself see the sadness, the guilt, that's almost been etched into him.

"I got my tattoo covered." I say to gauge his reaction, and also just to be bitter. "It's a big ol' celtic knot now. Not a trace of the old one."

"I understand. I'm sure it's prettier now, in any case.." He shrugs. "How can I help, Christine?"

"Give me some space, Raoul. Seven years wasn't enough." I mumble, and walk off into the deepening gray of the evening. Raoul doesn't follow, and I'm not sure if I'm glad or sad. I pull out my phone and dial Meg. I don't want to feel this alone again..

E-

I watch her interactions with the damned boy from my window, wishing for unknown and unnameable things. Ultimately, she leaves alone, pulling out her phone. I look to mine on the counter, but it does not ring. I suppose she's calling Meg, then.. She disappears behind a building, drenched in woeful shadow, all her internal light seeming snuffed out, and I _ache_ to see her so, to know, worse, that I did it, and even worse than that, to know it was _necessary_.

But if something is bound to fall, is it not better to choose how it will fall than to let luck and chaos determine the worst of every outcome? I had to do this. If she found out- no, _when_ she found out, it would have broken her, worse, far worse, would have ruined her.

I still rail and writhe against the necessity. I hate this life, this burden, that gives and then takes away with _interest_. I want her, I want her so badly, back in my home and my life, but it's too late. I _had_ to.. I had to. I can't let her back in for her own sake, and for mine, too. I try to take comfort. If everything _must_ be awful, at least I have chosen the time and the place. At least it was not stolen from me, this time.

But _Christine_..

I moan, and tear my mask from my face, throwing it hatefully at the floor. It shatters, screaming, and I roar in the silence after. Damn this world, damn this face, damn its eternal suffering, and damn the god who gave it all to me! What did I do to earn this life? What predetermined me for this horrible fate? Why was I set for this, without any choice, to suffer and ache and fall? I rampage through my perfectly tidy apartment, ferociously and mercilessly tearing apart anything I can with my bare hands, which is most of everything.

By the end of an hour, nothing but the bed and the kitchen remain whole and standing. Even I am more damaged for it, my hands torn and bleeding, arms and legs and throat sore, and I rest, panting, against the island that divides the main room from that tiny kitchen..

And I break apart again in sorrow, alone, and by my own actions. I both crave and miss her, and know that I should never see her again. I want her, I need her, but I need her to be alive and safe and free even more.. To love me would mean to love a cage, and she is already trapped by too many things for me to allow it. If I must break her heart to set her free, then I must. It is a deed I do not look forward to living with, but it's the only way to protect her from my past and my future, in essence, from myself.

I lied, earlier, when I said only the bed and the kitchen were left whole. My violin, my faithful instrument, is still safe and lovely and whole. I find that I can no longer express myself with tears or violence or words.. but she can cry for me. She can cry when I cannot. She will sing when I cannot. She will mourn with me, though, for I can do that, at least.. Together we will mourn everything we cannot have and be.

C-

I call him every day, sometimes several times. I text him. I email him. There is no response. In the beginning, this makes me panic. This is just like Raoul, all over again. He knows it, too, but I suspect he's doing this to drive me away. It won't work. I'm determined to get a goddamned answer before this is over. But by the end of the first week, the panic is gone, replaced with a deeper, more long-term sense of fear and dread.

Meg comes over every day, either to the parlor or to my apartment and sometimes both, bearing ice cream and coffee and sweets. She's as appalled and surprised as I am, and she does her best to distract me or talk with me through it, to try to reach some kind of understanding. We never do, but it's cathartic anyway.

Raoul stays away for four days, before appearing at the parlor again. Firmin threatens to toss him out, which would normally be funny, as he is a small, round slightly older fellow, who is reputably physically inept, but the earnest with which he declares it is intimidating, even on him. But I let Raoul in on the fifth day. I let him talk. He just says the same things, he's sorry, he regrets it, he just wants to understand now, for my sake.

On the sixth day, I give up and talk back. I explain to him, as I did every time, how it works, how I feel, what it means. I don't feel any better for it, though. He says he understands, but I think he still doesn't get it in that fundamental way that I, despite being differently minded from him, can understand how he feels from a distance, removed but empathetic. It sounds like he's just saying it, but it also sounds like he is _trying_ to understand, which I appreciate. It's all too late for me, but it's sweet nonetheless. Maybe some other girl will have an easier time from this.

Raoul seems insistent on being more again, in the beginning, but I have no interest. I tell him he can try to stick around if he wants to, but there's no love for him. We fall back into friendship, though, slowly, and painfully. He seems okay with this in time. He'd better be, or it'll be the highway for him. My promise to break his nose still stands..

Even so, with Raoul being no more than friendly and Meg being more supportive than ever, I am not happy. I always thought that, after a horrible experience like Raoul and my dad's death and losing everything, I'd never hurt so much over anything, but here I am. I miss him terribly, but for all that I reach out, he refuses to reach back. I know he's there. He never leaves, after all.

In the wake of everything, I feel like the tiger lillies that I took home, that withered and died, alone in my apartment. I feel like I'm fading away, falling to dust, with nothing to keep me together. I wonder if I would hurt so much if I just knew _why_ he thought this was needed. Why? Why?! Just.. why?

I keep thinking about it, but I only get more and more confused, more and more hurt. I find no joy in my work, no art or music can cheer me, and even the stupidest of Meg's jokes can't lift my spirit for more than a moment. No matter how bright the sun shines, I feel wasted and gray and hollow, no longer full of a life of my own, just a golem of muscle memory and dusty tears.

For three weeks, I try to contact him every day. Then every other day, for two weeks, and then not at all. I fall into despair. What else is there to feel? We were at the height of joy, and we should've only gone further up, but now I feel not only like I've fallen to the bottom of the mountain, but a step further, down into a valley, alone. Even if Meg and Raoul both try to pull me up, sooner or later they'll realize I'm too heavy, not worth saving, and have to let go. Or, maybe like Erik, I'll have to cut them free.

But I understand why _I_ would. I'm shutting down, falling apart. I am at my very worst, and I don't know how things can ever be better again. I don't want to drag down the only other caring people in my life with me. But he- we- were doing so well, so happily together, so perfect and content and.. I just don't understand.

I decide that, tomorrow, nearly six weeks after, I'll go retrieve my bike. One last try. It's all I have, and then it'll really be over, and I'll never be the same again.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9:

((trigger warning for violence/ suicide mention/ death mention))

C-

I text him to let him know I'm coming, that I want to talk, but he doesn't respond. I hoped he would, but I didn't dare expect it. I go through the day like a robot, on full autopilot, just one task after another while I try to prepare myself for the hard part of the day. Permanent rejection. I can feel it coming on. I know that, if I can't manage to get him to talk, it's over.

And then I don't know what I'll do. I really don't know. I don't feel like I can just bounce back from this. I don't see how I can ever recover. Like so much else in my life, he'll just haunt me, and I'll try to live my life like a person, and I'll just seem like a phantom myself, the way I was when I met Meg and him, but worse, so much worse.

I walk, a funeral march playing in my head, from work, past my apartment, to the shop. I don't see him at his window upstairs, or in his work room from outside. The shop itself is closed, even Darius absent. The effect is eerie, too still for what I know should be a place of life and living. The colors still seemed drained, everything ashen and quiet. It all looks the way I feel, which is probably not a hopeful sign.

I sit down at the bike rack, my bike miraculously in one piece and still here, even my helmet still right where I'd thrown it, and pull out my phone. I dial Erik, my phone going so far as to automatically suggest his number to me, some auto function of Google, or something, based purely on how often I've tried. It rings..

And goes to voicemail. I try again, to the same effect. One more, I think, I'll just try once more, and that'll be that. It rings, painfully slow, and goes to voicemail. I sigh and let it read me my rights, swallowing hard as it gives me 'speak now' tone.

"Hi, Erik. I guess.. well, this is goodbye. You got what you wanted. You pushed me away. I won't.. I won't come back. I won't call. No texts. I'll disappear for real, if that's what you really want. I.. I just wish I understood why, is all. But I guess we can't always get what we want, huh? I don't want to leave you alone, leave you behind, but if you really don't want me around, how can I argue?

Before I run out of time, I wanna say you can still call me. If you change your mind. I won't lie, I'll probably be pissed, but if you talked about it with me.." I stop, shaking my head. I wonder if the sound is audible or if the line will be silent, empty. "I miss you. Still.. Still love you, too. I shouldn't, for how much I hurt, but I do. So.. I wish you the best. And, uh.. bye." I shrug and hang up, feeling more empty than ever. I tried. I tried so hard, and I've left the door open for him, but I know he won't come through it. He made it this long, after all.

I tear up almost instantly, but there's no passion. It's just a release of the defeat I feel. This is it. It's over. I'm done. He doesn't want me.

I unlock my bike and collect my helmet and walk away. The end..

E-

I watch as she goes, from inside the shop, hidden carefully behind a shelf. It was unbearable agony to let the phone ring, to know how desperately she was reaching out, and to essentially slap her hands away by staying silent. I watched her talk into the phone, her voicemail appearing on mine, but I dare not open it until she is gone and away, for the fear of dashing out after her, breaking my agreement..

Safely distant, I open the sound file and hold the phone to my ear with a trembling hand.

I nearly cry when I hear her voice. I feel my heart break, then, knowing this must be goodbye, for both our betterment.

And yet, when she says 'I love you' again, I feel myself truly shatter. It bursts out of me, tears slicking the inside of my mask, my throat tight, too tight for air or words or life. How can I have turned away this marvelous woman, who somehow feels such a thing for me? I, the undeserving, the unworthy. She chose me. It hurts to know I had her affection, that for those brief months she was nearly mine, and that I had to send her away. I, as an individual, am too dangerous, too needing. But worse, there are those out there that I have wronged who would stop at nothing to make me pay. And I agree that I deserve to pay, but not her. I can't let her suffer for me.

Daroga said they were searching the states, the original ones, the worst ones, city by city, the hard and long and fruitless way. If they find me here, with her, what wouldn't they do to her to see me suffer? I can't, I can't.. She has to be free. I cannot ever be, but she must. What is the point of this life if people like her cannot find joy and freedom?

It's best this way. It needs to be this way.

C-

I debate calling Meg to give her the update, but I know she'll just want to come over and talk and cry with me and I just want nothingness. Just a small escape from the everything. I want to hop on a bus and leave the city, disappear forever.

Maybe in ten or twenty years I'd show up on a t.v. show about mysterious missing persons, and the world would wonder what happened to Christine Daae. But I can't. At least, not that quickly, not that easily. I could never really abandon Meg, and even Raoul, now that we've reached an understanding. But I can't really deal with them trying to help. I'm just in a state where nothing will help.

For tonight, at least, I really will walk in the shadows of death and despair, just let it be sad and terrible and dark and scary, and maybe when tomorrow comes I'll be able to face the day, if not the future. It must have rained some time ago, the pavement and the asphalt and the bricks of all the buildings glistening. There's no comfort in thinking the world cried for me, even shortly, but I think it anyway. Maybe mom and dad in heaven, or wherever we go, opened up the skies and let it be sad for me, knowing that at the end of it I wouldn't really feel much of anything.

I wonder, shortly, if they would be disappointed in me for considering joining them? I miss them so much, and life is scary and hard and I keep ending up feeling lost and alone.. but I know I'm not the kind of person who could do that. I'm too afraid, and honestly, too stubborn. As much as living hurts, I know that, for some reason or another, I need to keep going for myself. It feels impossible and distant, but I know there's a lasting happiness out there for me, somewhere. Maybe it's here, in this city, with someone else. Or maybe I'll find I'm happiest alone, after all this heartache, and be one of those confident, independent ladies who's untouchable and imperial and magic. Maybe I'll get my house back, and get a million cats, and be one of those terrible stereotyped witch-ladies who otherwise live alone. Wouldn't that be interesting?

I almost laugh at the thought, but someone steps out in front of me and my bike. I lurch to a stop, glad I wasn't riding, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to stop.

"Sorry." I say, even though I'm also pretty sure they stepped in front of me on purpose, and I redirect my bike and me. But the person grabs onto my bike, stopping us. "Excuse me. Do I know you?"

"Not really, but you know a friend of ours. We'd like you to call him." The man, with a heavy, vaguely french accent, says. His face is covered in a mask, crudely made and painted, like a fanatical mockery of Erik. Is that what he's here for?

"We?" I ask, and then I notice the other figures sneaking from the shadows. I clench my keys in my hand, preparing for the worst. "I don't know much of anyone." I say.

"Yes, you do. A tall, masked man? We know he's in the city, and we have reason to suspect that you know him.." The first man says.

"And why would you think that?" I ask stubbornly, refusing to shake or shudder in front of them. "Who even are you?"

"Who we are is of no concern, not to you, unless you do know our.. friend. We've heard small rumors, whispers in the city.. and we've also been tapping the phones. You and your friend.." He snaps his fingers here, thinking.

"Meg. Meg Giry." One of the other figures supplies.

"Ah, yes. You two have been quite talkative of some fellow matching our description, and you keep calling this one number.. but he does not answer."

"So I'm having some boyfriend troubles with a guy who's kinda like your guy. Why not just trace my steps and investigate for yourselves? Why are you calling me into this?" It's not that I want to lead them to Erik, but I want to know if they even know where he is before anything else. Maybe if they weren't smart enough to follow me, I can trick them somehow..

"Because it will be much more fun this way. We never imagined the bastard could make such a.. lovely friend." I can hear a grin in his voice, dripping with disgusting insinuation. I grimace, afraid, but resolute.

"We're not friends. Not anymore. Not according to him. I'm not.. worth anything to you."

"You are mistaken. He knew we were coming, he tried to send you away for your own protection, but you came back this last time.. we know how you both feel." The ringleader's grip on my bike tightens, leaning forward over the bars.

"You don't know anything." I spit, and drive my key into his neck, just above his collarbone. I need no further convincing that these men and/or women mean me and my Erik harm, and even with all the torment, I cannot simply allow it. The man roars, falling to the ground, my key lodged behind the bone, torn away from me. His lackeys jump forward, all six of them, to grab me, and I use all the defensive training I have to offer to fend them off. That is, the whole half a year of taekwondo I took in middle school. I manage to deck one and elbow another, possibly kick another in the shin or abdomen, but after that I am lost in a web of fiercely gripping hands and bodies pressed against mine, trying to contain me. I fight anyway, snarling and kicking and writhing. I refuse to go down quietly or easily.

A gunshot rings through the street, and the only light for the block goes out, the rest already broken or maybe even shot. The gang- what else could they be?- drags me into an alley, slamming me against a wall, hands on my arms, someone pulling my hair to control me. The leader walks into the darkness of the alley, somehow still darker than the street, the pistol-style gun pointed up. He pulls the key from his neck carefully, dropping it to the ground, a trail of blood dribbling behind it. Part of me reels that I did that, but most of me is just concerned for what he's going to do to me for it.

"Very fearsome. It's no surprise the Phantom would fall for someone as crazy as he." He compliments me, and then back hands me. There is dual pain from the strike itself as well as the pull of hair and whiplash. I feel my lip split, my head and jaw ringing with second hand pain. "Now, you will take out your phone and ask for help, Christine." He says, holding out my phone, taken from my bag. I must have dropped it at some point. His lackeys don't let go of my arms, waiting for me to say something.

"He won't answer. He didn't earlier. Why would he now?" I spit, blood pouring from my lip. It tastes like salt and iron, the wound itself burning.

"Maybe he won't. But won't it hurt him to know he could have saved you? That you left such a tearful message, begging for help, and he did not answer?" I feel myself pale at this new implication. I'm not ready to die yet.. "Now call him."

"No." I steel myself. I won't give them the satisfaction. He slaps me again, with the hand with the gun, the metal crashing with my skull, everything ringing. I feel what can only be blood drip down my forehead, into my eye, coming from somewhere beyond my hairline, I'm sure. He doesn't ask me again, and I don't get to answer. He just slams my head back into the wall, further jarring my sight and thoughts with a resounding, sickening crack.

"Which thumb opens the phone?" He asks, hand on my throat. I can't reply, and I don't mean to, but my right hand twitches, and his lackeys wrestle my fist open to steal the print. One of them punches me in the stomach, stealing my breath, pressing the home button against my thumb, unlocking it. The leader dials Erik quickly, turning to pace like a teenager calling their crush, fidgeting with the gun like the cord of an old landline. I almost start to laugh, so sure he won't answer, but then I hear it pick up, and I hear Erik.

"Christine!?"

E-

I am weak, so weak, to answer, but I wish to apologise, to beg for forgiveness, to just hear her voice once before the end of everything. But it's not her on the other side.

"I did not think you would answer, old friend! There goes plan 'A', as the Americans like to say." I know his voice. It haunts my nightmares, his beatings still causing me pain to this day. Reed.

"What are you doing with Christine's cell phone?" I hiss.

"We were simply having a bit of a chat and I felt so badly for your rejection of her, I thought I would help you get back together, friend! She misses you dearly, don't you, little lovely?" He moves the phone away from his own head, presses it against something else. "Come, come, beg for him, little girl."

"Erik!" Christine. "Don't come- they gotta gun, stay safe, run away-" She's cut off, and I hear a smack, a terrible, wicked sound.

"Christine!" How dare he? I burn for what I wish to do to him.

"Have you no sense of self-preservation, girl?" I hear Reed sigh, can almost hear the shake of his head. "At least she is interesting, non?"

"What do you want, you bastard!?" I roar.

"We want you, of course. It's not that I don't like being in charge, Erik, my little Phantom, but I had plans to dispose of Reed Senior that you made rather inconvenient messes of. That, and all the blame we got for the messes you made while on the run. But I think I rather like the little lady. Perhaps I won't tell you where we are?" He purrs. I hang up, and grab my things. I don't need him to tell me where they are. The walk from here to her apartment is short, and she has only been gone around ten minutes, and how could I forget her description of the path, shared with me on a happier day? No, I will find them easily.

I have only a few tools I need, only a few I have been allowed to keep. My black mask of death, for surely someone will die tonight, my lasso, and a knife. Unsure of what injuries Christine may have, I grab my small first aid kit, and tuck it into a pocket of a heavy, lengthy black coat, for the sake of hiding in the shadows. Formless, colorless clothing and a well placed shadow has saved me more than once in the past..

Gathering these things takes only a moment and then I am at the shop entrance, and this is the only time I hesitate. To leave is to break my agreement, and surely Darius and Daroga and who knows else will be after me, as per the agreement.. But to not leave is to condemn Christine to death or worse, and I will not allow this.

I tear down the streets, the chirping at my angle meaningless. It dies in a matter of minutes anyway, the sound less important to me than the signal it's sending out, and even that holds little meaning at the moment. All that matters right now is righting this wrong, correcting what should have never happened. I have not fought, have not killed in many years, but the knowledge, the feeling is still there in my hands, in these tools. I had sworn, to myself and others, 'never again', but all vows are worthless if they forsake her..

I hear her yelling and fighting, expletives flying from several mouths, and in several tongues. Up ahead, in an alley, no light to be found. Good. They will not see me coming. A poor choice on their part, for surely Reed remembers my impeccable sight..

I whip around the corner, lasso flying for the closest three heads. Pulled tight and fast, they clack together, a beautiful, satisfying crunch of mask and skull colliding rings out. A man with a gun- it can only be Reed- takes aim, but I pull the mass of bodies in the way with a yank to the side, the shot depositing itself in one of them. The rest of the 'fight' passes in a blaze of silver and red, until I am the only one left standing, hands drenched in a mix of disgusting bodily fluids, red and slick, victorious. I toss the knife to the ground. I will not need it anymore; it's done its job.

Christine looks up at me, her vision unfocused, blood on her face and in her eye. Streaks of her blond hair are stained a strawberry red, still wet, the ends dripping. I lean down to her, to take care of her before we're apprehended, before I'm taken away.

C-

I'm not sure what happened. I saw it all happen, but it was so fast, so wild, and then it was over. Only the tallest shadow remains upright, looking for movement in the fallen ones. Satisfied they will not rise, it comes for me. Is this death? Is he here for me?

But as it crouches in front of me, long and thin hands sweeping my hair away from the gash on my head, I recognize the ring on his right hand, shining just barely in the night, and then the yellow eyes seem less like hellfire, and more like neon dandelions in the dark.

"Erik.." I mumble, trying to reach a hand out to him, but I can't see much. It's so dark. My hand collides with his arm, and I try to hold on tightly.

"Christine.." He mumble back.

"You got a new mask." I say. Even in the shadows, I can tell it's black, like his coat.

"Technically, this is my first mask, but yes, it is new. I destroyed the other one.." He explains. "What did they do to you? Where are you hurt?" He asks, fussing with something, a box, I think.

"My head. Front 'n' back. Punched me.. Don't think anything else." I try to remember the details, but, failing that, I focus on what hurts in this moment. "My leg hurts too, but I dunno why."

"Head wounds first. Lean forward, please. I must work quickly, and try to explain myself.. Oh, I am so sorry for this.." He murmurs, eyes flitting everywhere but my own. I do as he asks, leaning forward. He hastily inspects the back of my head, then takes out what looks like an ace bandage from the box- first aid kit- and wraps it skillfully around both the front and the back injuries.

"Why'd they want you?" I ask. He looks over his shoulder, then turns to inspect the rest of me. My arms are scuffed from being pressed against the wall, though I had not noticed until now. Erik takes out a bottle and uses it to wash off the scrapes, full of dirt and brick. It stings, but I don't protest.

"My past. I told you I was born in France, yes? Well, I was.. not taken care of. I am unsure of much, but I took care of myself by thieving. I did not like it, but I had no other way to survive, no way to have a job or a life.. I was found by that.. bastard's father, who used my self-developed skills for his gang's interest. I did not like this, and many other things, so I killed him, and ran. That is why I travelled. To escape the backlash, but it only got worse. Wherever I went, some group had heard of me, and desired me, and tried to kill me when I refused. I am known, Christine, as the Phantom in some places, or the 'Mask of Death' in others. This is.. this is what I wanted to hide from you. I did not want you to be hurt by my past actions, and now.." He sighs. It takes a while to really process that. Erik, my Erik, was a thief and a killer. I feel.. strangely unsurprised, but the weight of the truth still sits heavily in my stomach.

"And I do not look forward to the way you will surely see me now that you know the monstrous things of which I am capable." He says, and I realise he hasn't looked at me since he started talking, adamantly focusing on my injuries.

"Erik.. it sounds like you didn't have any choice."

"The law did not see it that way. I do not expect you to try to keep in my good graces for fear, Christine. You need not ever fear me like they should have. You may- you should speak freely."

"I don't. Fear you, that is. I mean, I'm a lil intimidated, but not afraid. Mostly impressed you stayed alive.. I don't think.. a life like that, I'd.. I dunno." I slur, lip slightly swollen, and still bloody. Erik looks up at me, finally, a bit unsure.

"You do not hate me?"

"No! Di'n't you once say I could set fire to a whole city 'n' you'd still think I was great? I feel the same for you! Well, maybe not a city of innocent people, but these gang guys? I.. I really can't blame you for standing your ground, for doing what you had to, if you really had no other support. I wasn't there, I can't.." I shrug. "You're still the person I knew before I knew this, so what does anything else matter?"

"You are too sweet for me, Christine." He says, hand on my cheek. It's wet with I don't want to think about what, but I'm fine with it. It means he's here. It means he cares.. For a second, despite the hot and puffiness of swelling injuries, and the dark, and the dead people lying around us, it feels like that most perfect hour in his apartment, at peace and happy and understanding.

"I kind of like you, you jerk." I reply.

"I kind of like you, too. I'm still so.. so sorry for this, and for what's coming next." He sighs, pulling away to look me over. I don't a get a chance to ask what's coming, as it apparently arrives, surprising us both.

Before I can process it, he's pushed away, kicked, I think, to the side, lights suddenly flashing everywhere. I hear a strange clatter, but I'm knocked into the wall again, my head cracking against brick wall for a third time tonight. When my vision can focus, I see Darius, Mr. Khan, and several other people standing over Erik and I, separating us. Darius has a gun pointed at Erik, and while that deeply frightens me, I find myself much more worried about something else.

Erik's mask has come off.

It takes a second for him to realize it, eyes flitting, flying from the gun to me. In that second, I take in the details, the face that was hidden for so long. It's hardly a face as I've known before- so thin, cheekbones apparent, almost like there's no muscle there at all, or just very thinly, like an old man. But it's more than that. His eyes, which had always been cast in shadow, are sunken in, the color a twilight purple like when someone's sick or exhausted. And, strangest of all, he has no nose. Instead, there's a gaping triangular hole, set right between his eyes, like it was cut off at the base.

When the second has passed, and his eyes meet mine, I see why he hid it so desperately for so long.

E-

The force of the unexpected kick knocks me back, jarring my elbow. It stings across my shoulder where he struck me, but otherwise I am simply surprised. I am not surprised to be staring down the barrel of a gun, though. I expected this, from the moment I ran from the shop. My agreement, broken. My life, over. Short, sweet, simple and easy.

The breeze I feel over my face, however, is more than just surprising. Frightened beyond compare, I flick my eyes to the left, looking for Christine. My eyes widen to match hers, parallel circles of shock. My face, my curse, bare to the world and to her. Of all the people in the world- why her? After everything else, why this?

I turn back to Darius, hearing his gun click, loaded. I don't even have time to whisper an unheard apology or goodbye, simply clenching my eyes, bracing uselessly.

"No!"


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10:

((edit: looks like i have to leave you hanging for a while-i have long shifts at work the next two days and i will not be able to write much of significance. so. cliffhanger~~~~ till probably monday the 22nd. sorry!))

C-

I push through two or three people, summoning strength I didn't know I had in my mad scramble to put myself in the way. I push the gun away, arms out, all of me in front of Erik. Darius pulls the gun away.

"God, Christine! I wasn't gonna _shoot!_ " He exclaims, looking at me like _I'm_ the crazy one, when it was him pointing a _loaded gun_ at Erik.

"What was I supposed to think? What's going on here? What the _fuck_ are you doing with a gun?!" I scream. All the people stare at me, unsure what to do.

"Christine!" Erik says from behind me. I turn to see him, still wide eyed, shrunken down, afraid, but desperate. "Get _out_ of here!" He half-begs, then puts a hand over his face- his gaunt, noseless face- and then the other, ashamed. I just stumble towards him, falling to my knees to hug him.

"I'm not going anywhere, damn you." I sob.

"But I- They- You _saw_ -" He protests, understandably concerned, but I don't have the patience to let him pity himself.

"And I don't care! All I care about is how fucking _scared_ you looked! Who did that? Who-" I break down, and Erik, forgetting his face, puts his arms around me. I cry into his loose hair, probably breathing too hard in his ear, sure, at least for now, that my being here keeps him safe.

"Christine, hush, please-" I feel his cheeks push into my own hair, his lips close to my ear.

"I'm sorry for swearing you were just so scared and there's all these people and they've got _guns_ and I thought you were gonna die and I couldn't- I couldn't-"

"Shh, it's alright- they would never- not _in front_ of you-" He says, like that's any better. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispers. "I wanted to warn you, at least, before they got here, but it seems we ran out of time, and- and my mask-" I feel his heart stop, literally, in panic. Through strands of dark hair I see it. I lean us back, reaching for it. I keep one arm around Erik, pulling him with me, trying to keep him safe by taking him hostage.

"I don't care what you look like, but here. I know you want it. I know you need it." I say, pulling it by the string towards us. He grabs it, and I turn around to watch the other people as he puts it on, desperate for it. Mr. Khan stands at the front of the crowd, at some point replacing Darius, though he's just off to the side. All the guns are down, everyone more curious than anything. I glare at each and every one of them, and Mr. Khan laughs.

"What's so funny!?" I snarl, tensing my shoulders.

"You two." He says, grinning.

"Daroga, what will happen to Christine?" Erik asks, pulling us to our feet. The black mask looks so odd on him, the face it's making angry, vicious. The pearly blue one was relaxed, calm, neutral. This one shines like blood on oil.

"Nothing. She will be debriefed and sent on her way." Mr. Khan says. Erik sighs, pulling me close.

"Thank you. May I.. say my farewells?" His hand tightens on my shoulder, ever so slightly.

"Farewells? Where the hell do you think you're going?" I ask, squeezing him around the middle angrily. I glare at him and then everyone else again, challenging them to try to take him. I've already stabbed one guy today. Mr. Khan sighs, his jovial attitude falling away into a more somber mood.

"It seems we have much to talk about. Come with us." He waves, turning on his heel. All the agents and Darius spread out around us, not really giving us a choice. I hold on to Erik as we step over and around bodies - _these people are_ _ **dead**_ \- and they tuck us into a big black car waiting in the street, and drive us away. I do not let go of Erik, not even once we're in the car, choosing to probably unsafely buckle us both into the same spot. I don't care. Today- this whole damn month- has been too crazy to do anything else but hold on. Not until I get my answers, not until I know Erik is safe.

Erik holds me just as tightly, just as desperate, just as unwilling to let go. I wonder if whatever we've got is considered unhealthy, too needy, too close, but once again, I can't bring myself to care. I love him. That's all I know, and that's all I need to know about us. He hasn't said it, but I'm pretty sure he loves me too.

When we arrive, a very short drive later, they pull us out, to my great surprise, at the park across the street from Erik's shop. What on earth? Mr. Khan, Darius, Erik, and I sit on two benches, brought together by the other agent guys, facing each other. Erik and I across from Darius and his ever-more-mysterious uncle.

"We can talk freely here. I have jurisdiction over the whole square and all the buildings, too." Mr. Khan explains, but somehow that explains nothing. "I'm sure you have questions?"

"Yeah. A couple." I say, and clear my throat. "What the fuck?"

"Christine!" Erik gasps, Darius and Khan laughing hysterically.

"I'm serious! This is- this has all been too crazy! What- just _what?_ "

"A good question. Let us start at the beginning. What do you know of Erik's early life?" Mr. Khan asks.

"He.. before you showed up and started waving guns around like crazy people, he said he was kinda recruited into a gang when he was young? Something like that?"

"More or less. He lived off thievery as a child, was known as the Phantom through several cities in France, for he was never caught, and never left any trace of himself. Until one day he was caught by, yes, something of a gang. The details here do not matter so much. They threatened that if he did not join them, work for them, they would kill him for his attempt. So, being the rational person he was, he killed their leader."

"Now, it was not like that, and you _know_ it! I did what they asked and they-" He looks away, unwilling to put it to words. After tonight, and the attitude the group had, I can guess. I give him a squeeze, hoping I'm being reassuring, comforting. Mr. Khan continues.

"Yes, well… They were not kind in return of his services, let us say. So, to escape, he killed their leader-"  
"It was self defense.." Erik growls.

"- and ran. Right out of the country, though we never found out how, exactly. I suppose he wouldn't be a phantom if we knew all his secrets, eh? Well, wherever he went, misery and violence followed, until he landed in my home country, Iran. He had something of a fan following that quite literally followed him there, all out for his blood, and causing no end of mayhem and disaster wherever they trailed him. My sister and I were leaving the country, for reasons of our own, and some way or another this fool thought he could use that to get himself away, and vanish. He tried to threaten us, but he did not know that I was a lawman there. I caught him, though not easily.

There was some.. mischief. A lot of tricky details and things that needed to be worked through, but worked through they were. Though I am retired, he is under my care. We have a very strict agreement that I fought very hard to have allowed, an agreement he broke tonight."

"Which was?"

"I would stay in one place for the rest of my life, causing no trouble and harming no one, or I would be sent back to Europe to have a proper sentencing that would undoubtedly end with me in prison." Erik says.

"So you broke your.. parole, basically, to come save me? You can't send him to jail for that!" I shout at Mr. Khan, who only shrugs.

"It's not up to me. It's all in paper, decided a little over eighteen years ago. He chose to break the agreement."

"That's fair! You- first of all, I'm pretty sure it's cruel and unusual punishment to literally lock him inside one house, even a nice one, for the rest of his life! Second of all, he didn't hurt anyone! I'm fine!"

"Ma'am, he killed seven people in about forty seconds." Darius says. Oh. Right. I'd forgotten that.

"Yeah, but they- they were villains! He was saving me!"

"I won't argue they were rather indecent people, criminals, all of them, with horrible, blood-stained records and deeds to their names, but did that deserve death?" Mr. Khan asks, philosophically.

"..No."

"I do applaud him for being selfless in coming to your aid, Christine, but a deal is a deal. He stepped foot from his shop. The sensor in his ankle will have sent this information to all the proper authorities, one of which is myself. It's recorded on some computer somewhere, for all time. He cannot deny it, and neither can we."

"So you're going to take him away..?" Darius nods, Erik turns away, and Mr. Khan stares blankly, unbothered. "That's not.. That can't be allowed, that's not.. that's not _fair_.."

"What's not fair? We had an agreement. He broke it. There are consequences." Mr. Khan says.

"That's not fair to me! Like- I know how that sounds, but god _damn_ it!" I squeeze Erik, my fingers tearing into his vest and shirt, and he squeezes me back.

"I'm so sorry, Christine. I shouldn't have let things-" He tries to take the blame, but I stop him.

"No, no, no, don't pull that! I wish you would've explained from the beginning but it's too late for that. I already care about you, and I do _not_ want to entertain thoughts about 'this shouldn't have happened' and stupid what ifs! I regret _nothing_ of that. I just thought.."

"We'd get a happy ending?"

"Yeah." I pout. "And don't tell me you told me so." I sigh. After everything, I really thought, I really hoped.. I'm so dizzy. My head throbs and I just don't want to deal with any of this. I want Erik to take me home, and I want us to go to bed and never think about this again.

"Would it mean anything if I said I had rather hoped things would work out as well?"

"Yeah. It means a lot."

"Yes, it does rather mean a lot." Mr. Khan says, interrupting. "But _what_ does it mean, Erik?" Erik squares his jaw at him, the angry face of the mask fitting the situation perfectly. "Oh, come on. I am still your friend, Erik. I am still on _your_ side, as much as I can be. Surely you can tell me this, before I have to whisk you away and you have no more free, unfiltered words?" Erik thinks about it and relents, sighing.

"It _means_ I wanted to spend my life here. I was happy, and would be happy, to live in the shop and tend my flowers and see _her_. I was _happy_ , for the first time I can ever remember, and it is because of her. I am happy and loved and _in_ love and-" He says, hesitating. "I _love_ her." He says, and then his breath hitches. "I don't want to go." He sighs, and melts into the bench, into me. I hug him all the tighter.

"I don't want you to go, either."

"I thought I could do it, could walk nobly away to my doom, if it meant leaving you in safety but I.. I can't. This will break me.." He turns his head, looking at me, pleadingly, though I don't think he has any idea what I can do. I sure don't.

"Is there anything I can do? To keep him here? _Please_." I ask Mr. Khan. He tilts his head, thinking.

"No. No, there is really nothing you can do, dear Christine. But your nobility is noted. You may have a moment alone, and then we must go, Erik. The Bureau will be wanting you." Mr. Khan says, and rises, leaving it at that. Darius follows, but his face says that he's less than comfortable with this decision, and ultimately powerless to change it. Erik and I watch them go, leaving us in the yellow-lit park alone.

"Can we run away?" I ask first, breaking the silence.

"Oh, Christine. I would, that I could, but the sensor in my ankle is a tracker, too. They would follow us for all time. There would never be a moment of rest, and it would not end peacefully."

"Is it, like, _in_ your ankle?"

"Yes. Surgically implanted."

"Oh my god. That's _sick_ \- why would.." I want to bang my head on a wall. This is all so _ridiculous_.

"It's much better than the alternate. Daroga fought very hard for this merciful option on my behalf. I was still a child.. Well. I thought of myself as very old already, but I was only.. twenty-two?" He thinks aloud. "But they were certain that if I went to court I would have been tried as an adult, given my age when I was caught and the severity of my crimes even when I was younger, after all, my first kill was at the age of fourteen, and it never seemed to stop after that.. and with the enemies of mine who'd been caught and sent to their own imprisonment along the way, it was assured I wouldn't survive in any sort of prison for very long."

" _God_." I reel. "This is insane, Erik. What kinda world..?"

"I ask that question very often, Christine. I do not think there is a reason, anymore. It simply _is_. But it is the world in which I was able to know you. I think.. I think that is worth it."

"Is it really? If you could turn back time, undo all this heartache, _all_ of it, you wouldn't do it? For me?"

"I think so. I am not certain, but I think so." He looks at me, and I at him, and I don't know what more to say, what more to do. The bench feels cold underneath us, despite the sun having only just gone down no more than an hour ago.

"I am happy to have known you. I don't want to say goodbye. I want.." I don't know what I want. I feel like all the possibilities are being stolen out from under me, such that I can't even guess anymore.

"I know. I do, as well. Anything. Everything." He says, hushed. "May I.. say something?"

"Anything."

"You.. you said that you loved me. Twice, now. I have only said so once. So, Christine, I would like you to know that I-" He takes a breath, holding both my hands in both of his, "- _love_ you." The sincerity, the gentleness with which he says it, like it's a magic spell, a sacred promise, makes me really _feel_ it.

"I love you, too, you awkward thing, you."

"I do not understand how.. especially now, now that you know _everything_.." He sighs, but I just hold his hands tighter.

"Hey, remember how I said I'd understand, or try to?" Erik nods.

"I was in a bit of a state, but yes."

"Well, I do. I mean, not completely, because I wasn't there and I'm not you, but I think I do as much as any outside observer _can_ understand someone else's experience. And I still love you. Maybe even more now."

"And though you have seen..?" He gestures to the mask, but his eyes are steady on mine.

"I don't care how you look. It was a shock, I guess, and I'm sure if you had your way it would have gone way differently, if at all. But.. it's you. Or, it's not you. Your face is not _who_ you are in your entirety, it just contributes, I guess. And I love who you are, so I love what you look like. That sounds bonkers to you, I'm sure.."

"Coming from you, it only makes sense. I.. cannot relate, entirely, but I think I understand. I love you so much for these things, Christine. For being you. You impossible you. I hate to leave.. I wish.. I so desperately wish I could stay. Now that we are at an understanding, it would be so, no, it already _is_ so freeing to be here, in this moment with you, and I imagine our future would be a bright one. I wish I could give you that future. But I can't."

"I know. I know you would if you could. I'd do anything if I thought it would help, but I can't think of anything.. Will I be able to write to you, or call?" Maybe there's hope in that way, at least.. but Erik shakes his head, mournful.

"Not likely. I.. I am still afraid I will have enemies. If they have not forgotten, I will not live in safety. But I will hold you in my heart for every day until my last, whether it's two or two thousand."

"And I'll remember you in mine forever. I will never, ever forget loving you." I shake my head, but I make myself dizzy.

"Careful, love. You may have a concussion.." Erik runs a hand over the bandage he so carefully wrapped himself, eyes bright with regret.

"I'll get myself checked out, don't worry." I force myself to smile, but once I start, it's not very forced at all. "I'm happy to have this moment with you."

"Indeed. You know, I never thought I would be able to share a moment outside, _truly_ outside with you.. I never hoped for even this much." He smiles back.

"Erik.. would it be too much of me to ask.."

"What?" He tilts his head, curious.

"To see you smile without your mask? Just once? I'll understand if you say no, I just.. I don't want to remember you scared.." I feel stupid for asking, for thinking it, for imposing on him like that, but he only hesitates a moment, taking his hands back from mine to untie it. It falls away into his hand, and he lifts his face from the porcelain, smiling unsurely.

I take a moment to study his face, to look him over and try to memorize the details the right way, before time tries to muddy and distill it into something wrong. It's not bad, really. I reach a hand out to touch his cheek, where dried blood is flaking off, to brush it away. I'm not surprised to find the skin of his face is just as soft as his hands, as his lips.

"Can I ask something else?"

"I'm not sure what more I have to give, but yes." He smiles genuinely here, almost laughing.

"Can I kiss you? Before you go?" He blanches, smile falling away, but he just seems surprised.

"You still- even though I'm..?" He blinks, and I giggle. I love how he does that.

"Yes, of course. It's the only thing I really have to give to _you_ , anyway."

"You have given me so much _more_ than I ever deserved, Christine Daae." Erik leans close, until our foreheads touch, our eyes just inches apart, mouths not too much more distant. "But I will be selfish for a moment, and accept a kiss." I smile.

"You dork." I say, and press forward, eyes closed. It's short- I'm not brave or comfortable enough with anything that lasts too long- but it feels perfect to me. We sit there, foreheads together, in the dark, until someone calls for Erik. Both of us sighing, we pull away, and Erik replaces his mask. We stand, in unison, Erik turning and stepping out of the way to reveal Mr. Khan, waving him over with a hand. I get the sense that I should stay here, and let Erik go alone.

He swallows, and I can see him steeling himself, his future as uncertain as mine, though in vastly different ways. He turns back to me, hands half closed. I take a breath and hug him, and try to remember all the times we said goodbye before, how perfect it was to hold him and be held, even if it was the close of our time together. I almost smell the magnolias from the spring, almost feel the dirt under my nails..

And then I pull away, smiling, still holding a hand of his in mine. I refuse to cry until he's gone, refuse to be the last he sees of me a face of sadness. He smiles back, truly happy, and then turns, hand pulling on mine until only our fingers hang from each other, and then he's gone. I watch him walk away, disappear into the car, and the car into the night.

I sit back down on the bench when he's gone, and feel colder than I have in a long time.


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11:

 **(( I'm a goof who didn't realize how much time she'd have in the first half of the day before work, so you guys get this a little earlier than expected! I'm thinking there'll be one more chapter, and then an epilogue, and it'll be done! I'm not sure when you can expect them, but probably soon? (lbr I will probably write another chapter after work) This has been a real whirlwind of a writing project but I hope you guys have enjoyed it and will find the ending satisfying, when we get there!))**

I sit here for minutes, at the most, although it feels like days. It doesn't take long for the bench, made of cast iron and ancient wood, to drain me of my heat, making me shiver. Besides the cold, I'm dizzy, and getting tired. These things all together worry me, because I promised Erik I'd take care of myself, and if I don't get moving soon, I might never move again, stubborn and asleep.

I have to force myself to stand up and trace my steps back to the place I was attacked. I need my keys, after all, and my bike and my phone. I need to try to keep living, even after the insanity that's passed in just this one night. Has it really been one night? Did I give up on our relationship, get attacked and then saved and then attacked again, reconciled, and then separated forever.. all in one night? What kind of..?

Even if I didn't have multiple head wounds, this would be dizzying, impossible to conceive. Paired _with_ the head wounds, I struggle to keep my balance and think at the same time. So I try to turn off the thoughts. I'll have plenty of time for that later.

The bodies are gone when I get back to the alley. So's the blood. Even the lamp is lit again, and I wonder for a hard and terrifying moment if I imagined it all. Erik, the months of misery, the months of simple bliss, the attack, _everything_. But I remember his eyes, and his face, and I know that while I might have been able to hypothetically design such a person, I could never imagine him in such depth and detail as to trick myself into believing he's real, and fall in love with something worse than a ghost, a figment. I feel the bandages on my head, feel the split in my lip, and I remember how it felt for his hands to care for me.

My stuff is all gathered in one place, almost neatly, thoughtfully. There's no sign on my key that I used it to _stab_ someone, and I don't know how any of the evidence disappeared, but I feel, deep in my bones, that nothing will ever come of tonight. No detective or police man will come knocking on my door, asking me what the hell happened here. It might as well have never happened, except for how much I hurt because of it all.

I open my phone, flashing back to having my hand pried open, punched in the stomach, with my pin instead. I call Meg, and ask her to come by my apartment. She doesn't ask why, but I know she will. She asks if Raoul can come too, since they're hanging out, and I mumble some affirmation. The details aren't very detailed at all, and I know I should be worried about that, but I just have to think of one thing at a time. Step one, 'retrieve items', is complete. Step two, 'call friend(s)', is also complete. Step three, 'go home', needs to start.

So I drag myself to my feet, tugging my bike alone, bag wrapped around the handlebars because my arms hurt too much to bear any weight. I walk home in silence, and even the city seems quieter than usual, not a person in sight either. Like before, like just earlier today, it all seems gray, but it's edged, laced, with slightly deeper shadows, and the old lights don't seem yellow at all. I feel like the darkness is soaking into me, staining me slowly, like coffee spills that don't seem so bad until you get home and you try to wash it out, only to realize it won't.

Meg and Raoul are waiting at my door when I get there. They both panic at the sight of what must be a bloody bandage around my head, the forming bruises on my arms, and the bleeding lip that just _keeps_ opening. I don't break down until they've cradled me inside, all three of us pressed on my tiny, affordable, uncomfortable couch, trying to explain.

Somehow, I tell the tale, minus maybe some details, just to spare them any moral indignation. I don't really care what they think about Erik's past, and I don't want to, so I just don't spill all the beans, not quite. Meg cries with me, and Raoul even seems fit to join us, though I can't tell why or what he thinks. Maybe he still cares enough about me in the old way that it hurts to see me crying about some other guy, but he cares enough in the new way to not pounce or berate or badmouth. He puts an arm around Meg to put a hand on my shoulder, and I would be a liar if I said that didn't give me some strength, to have him, _both_ of them, here for me.

He voices his concern about my head injuries, and Meg agrees, and they look up what to do. Google is a life saver. They determine, from what few things I can express, I may have a concussion, but that it's best to keep me here for now. I can only nod. What else do I do? What else should I want?

They also decide that for at least a few hours, I should try to stay awake. Raoul reads something about 'signs of deterioration', but mostly it makes no sense. I just agree. So we keep talking. Most of my tears are spent. I just feel a deep emptiness, and I tell them, as best as I can, about it. I swear, I keep repeating myself, but they never interrupt me when I talk, or tell me I'm being silly, or that I've already said something.

Until, at one point, I express that I don't know how to move on, that I feel trapped in a permanent moment of loss and emptiness. Not exactly like that, but they seem to understand, based on their reactions. Raoul stiffens, and Meg sighs, and the silence is drowning for too long of a moment..

"You simply have to." Raoul finally says, and it's the clearest thing I've heard since I came here.

"How?"

"You just.. do. For both your sakes. You said.. you said he was going to serve life, right? That all his hopes and dreams were in your hands? Then.. you have to live them. Yes, without him, but _for_ him, if that's what it takes. Don't you think?"

"Not in so many words, I-" I get caught on the first half. "- but yeah.. but _how_?"

"One day at a time, like anything else, Chrissie." Meg says. "And we'll be there for every step of the way, if you let us." And she smiles, and Raoul smiles, and even I smile, then, pulled close to them. I guess that's something else I can thank Erik for. Without having met him, I'm not sure I'd have been able to know my two friends nearly as well, and that's almost as unfathomable as the reality of the situation.

And I feel some of the emptiness clear, not beaten back entirely, but filled with a little bit of hope, and a tiny bit of happiness, and a dash of determination.

Eventually we collectively decide to go to bed, that it's _safe_ for me to go to bed, someone having set up an appointment, paid for by Raoul, who says he expects nothing. We turn my 'living room' into a sleepover zone, mostly done by my companions as I am wildly uncoordinated, and we turn in.

The doctor's visit confirms that I have a concussion. Not the worst, but definitely not 'nothing to worry about'. He advises I rest, take off from work, and not be alone, based on the vague details of the night I allow us to give and what he can tell of the injuries himself. For the most part, we're just treating what looks to be mild symptoms, and just letting my addled brain recover.

Meg moves me in with her and her mom and Raoul visits every day. They keep me distracted, keep me focused, whatever I need. I feel like a princess, like when I was young and my parents said they would juggle elephants to try to cheer me up. But a lot of times, they just let me be sad. I need it. I need time to mourn an unexplored and now unknowable future before I can move on. They seem to get it, and they let me.

A week passes, and I feel better, physically and emotionally. I feel hopeful for the future, almost ready to return to work with my coordination and eyesight recovered, a little less ready to live a life, a proper life, knowing I can't share any of it with Erik except in spirit, in heart, but I'm determined to try. Something about what Raoul and Meg said spurs me on. It's a kind of duty, but one done out of love, to keep living and keep trying to be happy without someone close.

It still stings, still _burns_ to know I'll never see him again, never hear his voice or watch his hands and the fascinating, marvelous way he seemed to work magic. My lungs ache sometimes, and my heart corrodes, knowing he'll never grow another flower, never play another song, never walk free.

But it's all I can do to keep going, isn't it? To give up now would be disrespectful, would be rude, and in a way, kind of unfaithful. I could never hurt him and my parents or anyone like that, but especially him. Especially knowing that he's out there, living what little life he can, based on the hope that I'm somehow happy out here. I get a tattoo of a red rose with a black ribbon on the inside of my left forearm, just like I remember the very first one he sent me, half-open and ever so perfect so I always remember him and my promise to keep going. If this rose can be in bloom for me, then maybe I can keep trying to bloom for him.

Some days, some nights, it's especially difficult. I have nightmares about Erik as a shadow, fighting off the others, but in these dreams of torment, he doesn't _win_. He's taken from me, sooner, more violently, but I can never remember the details after I wake up, only that it leaves me shaking for days afterwards, flinching at sudden noises and touches. Some nights I dread going to sleep for worse reasons, for the happy dreams that come to me. I dream we're together again, happy and sometimes even married, officially. Sometimes we live in my parents house, sometimes we live in his already perfect apartment, sometimes we're on the run and free. But I always wake up, and the dreams always take a little bit of my strength as they fade away.

It takes a week after my recovery for me to brave going back to the shop and the garden. The shop is locked, and everything is dead inside. It figures, much of it was cut, ready-to-go bouquets, very few living plants, and even those are visibly dead. The shop's pastels seem just as dead without any contrasting brightness, and it looks like a broken heart feels. I'd clean it up, just for the sake of the sight of it, but it's locked, both front and back. I don't dare try to go through Erik's apartment. I wouldn't if I could. I couldn't bear to see the place he lived without him _living_ in it.

But the garden. The garden still lives, although the liveliness of it is.. depleted. It had such perfect care up until two weeks ago.. or maybe it was longer. The night that Erik pushed me away, I thought I heard breaking pots, but I'm not sure I actually believed it. Here, I can see that a lot of the freestanding pots, both planted and unplanted, were tossed like toys in a child's tantrum, and hadn't ever been cleaned up. There is weeding that needs done in all the feeders, and the magnolias have long since dropped their flowers, their dried husks sitting sadly at the roots.

I take it upon myself to take care of it. Erik taught me well enough that I really can handle it on my own, now. I don't always remember everything right away, but with my hands in the dirt or pulling gently at tiny branches, it all comes back to me. In a course of days the garden brightens, everything coming to stand at attention once more. This is the one thing I do completely on my own. I don't even let Meg come with me. This garden was Erik's sanctuary, and I feel a bitter pride that I was the only one allowed in, and another sense of duty or need for it to keep on being that way.

Months pass. I go to work, I take care of the garden, I fight off dreams and nightmares both, I come home to Meg and her mother. It repeats.

And then, one day, Mrs. Giry has the news on while we do laundry. It's my day off, but I don't feel right not helping around the house, not paying rent even though I've gone back to work- Meg refuses to let me return to the 'dumpy little apartment' and she had me cut my contract there-, and it's nice to get to know the woman who helped make Meg, well, herself. She's a much more reserved and intimidating woman than her daughter, but I see where Meg's spontaneity and eagerness and determination all come from. She is supportive and encouraging and logical, which I dare to call wise. She makes me think of my own mom, in some small ways, and it both soothes and inflames the ache in my heart for my own. I think, though, she's more remedy than anything else.

I look up from folding a sweater- it's almost fall now and the city has cooled so much with the unexpected rain of the season but so many buildings still have their A.C. set high for the summer- and I catch a glimpse of a headline, not thinking much of it. Until the words repeat in my head, with understanding.

"MASKED MAN SHOT TO DEATH IN VIOLENT STRUGGLE"

A moment passes as I continue to understand what those words mean. And I collapse.

I don't mean to say that I faint. I've never, actually, ever passed out from anything other than a need for sleep. Even _this_ shock isn't enough of whatever's necessary to make me fall unconscious. No, I mean that all of me, my heart, my hopes, my determination, _everything_ collapses in on itself. I feel dead, and truly empty.

It's Erik. It can only be Erik. I watch as a reporter gives all the details- just outside the city, on his way out of the states for some trial elsewhere after much legal deliberation behind closed doors, where he broke free and put up a destructive, and almost deadly, fight. One of the agents, she says, had to shoot him five times before he fell. And that was that. The world is safe from this supposed maniac.

The news station moves on, but I do not.

I was promised. I was given _surety_ that he would live, at least, even if in captivity. Was it too much for him, to live in a proper cage? Did he never mean to go down so easily, and only said so for my sake? I don't know, I don't know.

I don't cry for him, this time. I cried for his death months ago. I knew he would die in prison someday, though I believed, apparently wrongly, that day was in the distant future, when he and I were both old and gross and crazy. I was imagining wrinkles on our faces.. Even now that it's happened so much sooner than I ever would have allowed, I've already accepted it. That's just the way things are now.

No, I cry for myself. I had built myself around Erik, one way or another, and now he's gone. How am I supposed to stand? How can I do anything but fall apart from the inside out? I had tied my life to his, as distant as it was. His end is mine.

Maybe that's silly, to build your life around a single person or an idea, but it's what I've always done. I was built between my parents, and then around Raoul, and I tried to stand for myself for a long time, and built a place in the tattoo shop and with Meg and this city, and then I built myself into Erik. I was trying to stand alone again for him, but now.. now that the base support is gone, can I really stand alone again?

I know, I _know_ that's so selfish of me. What about Meg, and her mother, and Raoul? What about my coworkers, my bosses, my other beloved clients? They've all done so much, in their own ways, knowingly or not. They haven't _really_ let me stand on my own. They keep trying to build me back up, giving what they can and taking nothing other than what little I offer them. I believed I was getting stronger, more capable, but maybe I was always built too weak to stand on my own, and now that I've suffered so many attacks, so many imbalances and faults and crumbling pillars, I just can't stand at all.

I love them, too, so why can't I stand for them? Why do I fall so easily when someone else does?

I think it's because, despite how much I love them, I have never loved someone so desperately and easily as I love Erik. And yes, I say love in the present tense, because I can't _stop_ loving him, the idea of him, the memories and the happiness and the _everything_. I don't know how to stop, and I consider it a deadly sin to even try to. I love them all so much, but I love Erik even more, and in a much stranger way.

Meg and Raoul and Mrs. Giry all try to comfort me, but they might as well try to make rain fall in reverse. I laugh at their jokes, I hug them when they reach, I eat the food they make to cheer me, I let them give me their condolences and promises, but nothing sticks. Like water over plastic, it just all falls away. I feel like the dead and dried flowers that fell from Erik's trees, too old, too late to save. I can only be swept up and tossed away, to make room for those that come next.

I keep going with life, but my focus is gone. My passion is gone. It's hard to do anything, to take care or pride or really feel _anything_ at all. 'I've had a tough year,' I say, if people ask about my apparent decline. I wander, like a vagabond, through the walls of my own life, but it feels foreign and remote and wrong. I don't know the way anymore. Everything's wrong.

Despite knowing that there's no hope at all now, that I'll ever see him again, I keep having dreams. I keep waking to my phone, but the number is Erik's, and that's not possible. They're only dreams, lying, cruel dreams that haunt me. I let it ring, over in over in these repetitive dreams, and turn over, back to deeper sleep when it's done.

It's Meg's suggestion to go back to the garden. She says it might help me find some closure, or a way to work through the dullness. I think she's wrong, at first, but the more I think about it, the more I want to believe her, and the more I simply do. She helps me get ready, helps me get going, and makes me promise to call her if I need anything. I don't understand how she's put up with me for so long, but I am grateful for her and her help even if I don't understand it.

I have to take a bus to get across the city, but I don't mind. It's nice to see the buildings fly by in blurs of concrete and brick and asphalt. No one tries to talk to me, and I don't have to think about how to get where I'm going, only where to get off.

I still can't tell if everything is gray because of the rainy season we're in, or my warped perception of everything, but it hardly matters to me. Well, that's not entirely true. In the weeks before Erik was killed, the brightest part of my life was the garden, the caring for what he left behind. I wonder now, after he's really, really gone, if this will still be true, or if even the life of the garden will seem stripped of color and feeling and vitality.

The bus lets me off a couple squares away, and the walk is brisk and brief from there to the fenced patio. I ignore the sad state of the shop, the brown-gray haze of dead flowers and dreams inside too much for me. I just round the corner and pop open the latch, hands shaking. I don't know what to expect.

I push open the gate, and the garden is just how I left it, give or take some of the foliage dropping in the cold. It seems just as green and alive as when I left it, and part of me is greatly relieved that this place still _feels_ just as alive as before I knew Erik wasn't. The rest of me is too muted to have any opinion on the matter.

I'm not sure where to start, so I just sit on the edge of one of the feeders, trying to take in the buzzing positivity. Despite everything, it's too pretty here to be sad. Even so chilly, it reminds me of our summer, the blooming _everything_ between us. We got to be close, we got to know each other, we got to fall in love. It was a kind of magic to be here with him then, and some of that magic is still here now, even diluted by time and change. I'm almost at peace. I could fall asleep here, on the edge of the tulips, looking out at the roses and the magnolias and the lavender and all of it.

I hear a ruffling, something towards the building, and I snap alert, and then to my feet.

"Who's there?" I yell, the loudest I've been in weeks. How dare anyone come in here? I ball up my fists, angry and protective, and head towards the noise. Out pops Darius from behind a rose bush, arms full of dead and dry leaves. He seems stunned to see me, mouth open to try to speak, but I act on instinct and punch him. He drops the leaves, arms up in defense, but I just keep going. "How dare you come back here!? What the hell do you think you're doing here?!" I yell, beating my hands against his arms and shoulders.

"Hey- Christine, wait- We've been trying to call- _stop_ ow-!" He says, but I still don't stop. "Christine, please-"

"No! There is no 'please'! You took him and you killed him and you dared to come back here after all of that!" Darius groans at that, and finally reacts, grabbing me by the wrists. I forgot how young he actually is, only remembering now that I'm forced to look at him. I twist to get away, but I don't have the strength.

"No, actually, I didn't." He says, pouting angrily. "Now will you please just listen? Maybe if you answered your damn phone.. Ugh. Just.. will you wait here? I'll be back, but you have to stay right here." He says, demanding but also kind of begging. I'm still angry, still furious, but I figure I might as well see what he's got to show me, hear what he's got to say.

"Fine." I say, and finally wrench my arms away from him.

"Great." He sighs, and heads up into Erik's apartment, stomping up the stairs. I don't watch him go in. I still don't think I could look at what's inside, and I'm not sure how he can just.. walk right in.

I sit back down to wait, feeling tired, really tired, from even that small exertion. Have I let myself get this weak? I know I've been struggling to eat and drink like I know I'm supposed to, but I hadn't felt any worse up until now, I guess.

"Christine, check it." I hear Darius call from the tiny porch, up above me. I look up to him, but he points down the stairs. I look, and there, at the bottom of the stairs, one hand still lingering on a post, the other reaching for me, is Erik.

"Christine?" He asks, my eyes meeting his.


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12:

C-

My first instinct is to laugh. And I do. Like I've lost my mind, because clearly, that's just what's happened. And then bitterly, because how _dare_ my brain make a dream this real, this cruel? Haven't I suffered enough inside my own head? Did I really _need_ to think I was awake this time? To then _actually_ wake up, even more disappointed, disparaged, than ever?

Dream-Erik blanches, looking up at dream-Darius, and I just laugh all the harder, crying. This is too much. _Too much_.

"Christine, what's wrong? I'm _here_." Dream-Erik says, reaching back out to me, but I just scoot away.

"That's the problem," I giggle, trying to wipe my eyes dry. ", this is just a stupid dream, another terrible dream that I have to wake up from-" He reaches out again, and I snap, "- _don't!_ "

"Why do you think this is a dream? I'm here, I swear. I tried to call, I went to your apartment, Darius checked at your parlor-"

"Stop _talking_ and just let me wake up!" I yell, and fall to my knees on the cold stone path. "Let me wake up, or let it be over." I sob, the laughter gone. I can't do this anymore.

"Over? Christine, I.. What can I do to prove that I'm here? This is real, I promise.." Dream-Erik pleads, and I shake my head. "And it isn't death, either, I promise that as well."

"It can't be real. I saw the news, I read, I _saw_.."

"You saw a fabrication. Daroga- Monsi- Mr. Khan worked his silver tongue to set me free, to let us be free together. I tried to _call_ you.." He steps closer, slowly.

"Why only at night? Why _only_ when I was asleep?" I point out. "Why would a real Erik only call then?" He looks at me wildly, confused.

"I haven't? I have called every two or three hours for _days_.. Christine, you do not look well.." Another step. His hand stretches out a bit further.

"I haven't.. I don't understand. You can't be real. You're gone, you left and then you were.. you _died_. I saw..!" I shake my head. Do I dare to believe this? Can he really be real? Here? Alive?

"Did you see my face? Did you see my mask, the wounds? _What_ did you see?" He presses, taking another step, nearly crouching all the way down to me, but he stops, hands just a couple feet away.

"I saw.. the reporter. She gave us the headline, and she.. she talked about what happened and.."

"And were there any images? Of me, of _anything_?" He begs me to think.

"No.." I try to remember, but it was so long ago, wasn't it? But I don't remember anything other than the reporter's face, the headline, the bullet-point presentation of the information..

"And this is because there was nothing to _show_. It's all made up, Christine. I'm alive and free and here, and I will always be here, if you wish for me to be.." His hands open up, fingers stretching wide and open, palms up. His hands. His lovely, thin, and elegant hands. Have I ever dreamed them in such _detail_? I look up, _allowing_ myself to look up, to meet his eyes again and let them stay met and focused. They are that perfect golden dandelion color, like sunlight in the day and neon at night. I swallow hard. His long but caught brown hair, his slightly pointed ears, his wide but curved shoulders, how he rolls up his sleeves, it's all exact, all him.

"Erik?" I gasp, and reach for him. He comes the rest of the way down to the ground and to me, arms sweeping around me, pulling me close. I can feel his heartbeat, feel the mild, lukewarm heat he always gives off, the edge of his collar bone pressed against, scraping, mine.. "Oh my god, it's you, it's you, you're here, you're real.." I sob, unsure how to feel. Of course I'm relieved, of course I'm happy he's not dead, but I don't know _how_.

"I am, I'm here, and I'm _yours_. I will never part with you, Christine, so long as you want me." He says, hand wrapped in my hair.

"Always, always and forever and don't ever let go." It's my turn to beg.

"Always and forever, then, and I will never, ever let go." He nods. And I feel so relieved, so safe again, so at peace. If this moment can only last forever, damn everything else, I would be happy. But, my heart at rest at last, safe and in his arms and real, everything goes blurry and darkens. I had forgotten how tired I was, how exhausted and spent and just _tired_ I was, and am. I feel my own hand slip out of his hair, and I'm out.

…

I wake up on the couch. It's a snap of a wake up, suddenly and fitfully, simply wide-eyed and staring at a room where before there was darkness. It comes back to me in a blitz, the dream, Erik's supposed return, everything. It felt so _real_..

"Christine? Are you awake?" I hear, and I realize the ceiling is _moving_ , it _spoke_. I blink a couple times and finally see that I'm not staring up at a ceiling, but Erik. I feel his hand on my shoulder, under my head, supporting me, not the couch. He must be holding me in his lap, bridal style. I blink.

"You're still here.." I am dumbfounded. It _couldn't_ have been real.. could it? He looks down at me sweetly, patiently.

"Of course, my love. You asked for me forever, so here I have stayed. It's only been a moment, though, and you were quite restless. You seem tired, still. You could go back to sleep." He suggests.

"Will you still be here?"

"Yes, Christine." He nods, smiling.

"Can you.." I start, but my question seems silly, so I don't ask it, letting my eyes droop close to closed.

"Can I what? I would do anything.."

"Just hold me a lil closer. I don't wanna forget you're here." I ask, sleep already trying to claim me again. Before I fade out again, I feel him shift us so that we're just the tiniest bit closer, my head closer to his heart.

When I wake up again, he's still holding me, but the apartment is bright with sunlight and overhead lights both. He also seems to have fallen asleep holding me, slumping against the couch back, chin resting on my head. I let myself smile, even if this feels too much like a fairy tale to be real. Maybe I'll wake up again and he'll be gone, and I'll be in Meg's guest bed, cold and alone and gray. Maybe. I hope not, though. I'm starting to believe this dream, to really believe it's real, and that I won't lose this hope.

Still sleepy, I don't notice myself humming a song I don't remember until I notice that Erik's breathing changes, less slow and tentative to alert, purposeful.

"Where did you hear that?" He mumbles, coming awake himself.

"I don't know." I mumble back. We're both quiet for a while, coming to awareness. "Are you really here?"

"Yes. Is this so hard to believe?"

"Yeah. I kept dreaming.. but I always woke up. Too many dreams."

"Christine, it's been four days since the newscast. How many dreams could you have had?" He wonders, not degrading or snide, just concerned.

"Has it? But it felt like, like _weeks_.."

"Days, dear, only days. I am still so _sorry_ to have made you feel this way. I wanted to call you ahead of time, but Daroga had not managed to retrieve my phone yet."

"From who?"

"Authorities of one sort or another. I do not know. Much of what happened that led us to this point is unknown to me. Daroga worked his magic, though I do not know how." He murmurs. "They went out, by the by. They will be back, they simply needed to eat, and there was nothing here. The ride was long."

"What about you?" I ask.

"I couldn't bear to eat until I saw you again. When we could not contact you ahead of our arrival, I grew most worried."

"I feel that. I don't think I've.. Well, I don't remember, anyway." I feel dizzy again, even though we haven't moved.

"You're joking, surely? Christine, you're not _like_ me, you can't _not_ eat for several days-" He says, pulling us apart to look at me. "-and I, at least, ate before we failed to establish communication. Do you mean you haven't since the _newscast_?"

"I don't really remember. It's been a blur. I thought it was weeks." I admit, shrugging. "I feel fine, though. Just a little lightheaded. An' tired."

"I'm going to call Darius and have them bring something back for you." He reaches for his phone, on the couch beside him, I presume, but it makes everything tip sideways. I try not to show the dizziness any, but I'm not sure it works.

"I'm fiiine, I promise." I then try to assure him, trying to grab his phone away. I can't seem to actually get my hand _on_ it, though, until he moves his hand under my swatting attempts. Was I really that far off?

"Forgive me, love, but I cannot believe you. You aren't- something is _off_. Please." He asks, eyes pleading once again. I can't say no, not to eyes that sad and worried and beautiful, so I let my hand fall off his, and he makes his call. "Darius? Yes, where are you?" He asks, and then pauses. "Yes, but Christine seems unwell. Very unwell. I am certain she needs something to eat, but otherwise, no. She seems to misremember the past several days, yes. Alright. Yes, most kindly. Thank you." He speaks shortly, but calmly, politely. I feel heavy against him. "They are on their way back. They have extra for you, donuts, I think they said. Will this do well for you?" He asks, and I nod. I don't really care. I drift off again, and Erik picks up the song I was humming where I left off. Coming from him, it's even more soothing, especially right in my ear.

I love him, I think, holding on to every sensation even as I fall away into sleep. I love him so much.

E-

Christine falls asleep again, much more peacefully this time than the last. I worry that she may still be experiencing the effects of what was undoubtedly a concussion, but it's been so long since then, and she assured me she would find treatment. Then again, I assured her I would be taken to prison in another country, on another _continent_ , and then I managed to convince her that I was dead. Things don't always turn out how we think they will, it seems.

There's a scar from that night. It's just inside her hairline, covered from all other angles but mine, just above her. It's small, a pink patch of otherwise normal skin, but I know what scars can mean, how much they can hurt. Does she know it's there? Does it bother her? Does it hurt her like it hurts me?

I realize I have a different kind of hurt as I try to shift the tiniest bit. My leg jumps with internal sparklers- they've fallen asleep. Carefully, I maneuver Christine so that most of her weight is on the couch rather on my legs, though they are numb and difficult to move at all. As I do, she stretches out, forward, pressing the slight dip of her nose into my neck, and sighs as her hands bury themselves a little deeper into the fabric of my vest and shirt.

My heart _twists_. Does she know how much I missed her? How deeply I craved only to hear her breath, to know that she was alright? How much I worried, and how much I fell all the more in love with her when I realized all I had to miss? It's almost too much to hold her now, to have her holding on to me, and I must force myself not to cling as desperately as I wish to.

I just continue to observe her, relearning her shape and weight and the steady fall of her breathing. I nearly cry again when I realize the tattoo on her arm is for _me_ , and it is no longer very new, which I judge from all that she's told me of her own craft. It's several weeks old, the lines still fully black, unfaded, but the skin no longer puffy or bleeding ink. She got it soon after I left, before she thought I was deceased. For me.

It's a _rose_. And not just any rose, but the exact rose I first gave her, when I was so sure she would be another small moment in my life, and not the entirety of it. I am surprised she remembered it in such detail for only a moment, but it's just like her to hold on to things like that. I wonder if she remembers my face, the insipid hollowness that defines me. I wonder how she might and still love me, but she's here, and she is Christine, and she will always defy my expectations.

Eventually, Darius and Daroga come through the garden door, which I remember Christine called the 'back' door. But they do not come alone. Bolstering her way in through a cautioning Daroga's arms, a young lady of about Christine's age, perhaps a tad younger, comes barrelling our way, ready to yell. I manage to put a finger to my lips to silence her, referring to Christine. This can only be Meg, for she halts instantly, eyes flicking between Christine and I with shock and reverence.

"So you're the guy?" She manages to say, at a reasonable tone. A young man, perhaps older than Christine, comes up behind Meg, more surprised than anything.

"I didn't they were telling the truth.." He says, sharing a look with Meg.

"What did they say about me?" I ask, softly.

"That you were here and alive. I didn't have any doubts, by the way, just him." Meg elbows the man. "I'm Meg, by the way. This is Raoul. We were looking for Christine, and figured she might be trying to come to her apartment or here so we were asking people if they'd seen her and we met-"

"Us." Daroga interrupts, coming around the other side of the couch. "And they would not let us leave without telling them where she was, and then they followed us here. Just as fierce as the young lady herself." He says.

"Wait- you are Raoul?" I ask, pointedly, at the young man. He nods. "The brat who was engaged to Christine? Who disengaged and vehemently ignored her for years afterwards? And then showed up, unexpected, unannounced, uninvited? _That_ Raoul?" He pales, grimacing and blushing both, a humorous sight. It _tickles_ me to have disarmed him so. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, he was kinda a dick before but he's learned his lesson and he's been hanging with us for several weeks now. He's been real helpful gettin' her through your unfortunate disappearance." Meg explains on his behalf, which is fortunate for the boy, as he looks like he could only _squeak_. But he takes a breath and tries anyway.

"I was young and stupid and I didn't know.. I just didn't know. I have no excuses. I'm simply here to help my friend now, like I should have done before.." He manages after a moment of me glaring at him.

"I am sorry to say I had not heard of your reformation, and you will have to forgive me if I do not entirely trust you until I hear confirmation from Christine." I respond in the most diplomatic tone I can muster.

"Hey, you kinda did the same things, buddy." Meg points out.

"I.. yes. I did. Though I did it with her protection in mind." I counter.

"Still sucked. Still coulda told her outright instead of deciding shit for her." She shrugs. She.. has me beat.

"I suppose that is a fair point. Very well." I relent, relaxing. Raoul himself breathes a heavy sigh of relief. "I do have some questions, though. Christine has been incredibly odd in the past several hours.. She expressed that she felt as though weeks have passed since the newscast, and that she has not eaten in that time, and she keeps falling asleep in the most peculiar way, never quite waking up.." Meg nods.

"Yeah.. The afternoon she saw the report she kinda went out.. like.. She just wasn't in her own head. She tried to keep going through the rest of the day but she was super distant, just out of it. So we sent her to bed, my mom and me. I mean, what else could we do? But she's been having trouble sleeping and I been sharing my sleep aid but it's been making her sleep walk, and sometimes it makes her dreams worse.

When I went in to check on her this morning, because we'd been tryin' to keep her fed, I noticed that a few more pills were missing from the packet, and that _she_ was gone too, and I think she must've been sleepwalking and dreaming about something important so I called Raoul and we followed her out."

"Sleep aid?" I ask with a squeak of my own. Did she- what was she thinking? Surely she wouldn't think to _follow_ me into my apparent death, would she?

"Not enough to like kill her!" Meg breaks through my internal panic. "You can take like five of mine before it starts to get dangerous. I don't need a high dose to fall asleep so it's a really low dose and super generic so.. But she must've been dreaming whole days or weeks and waking up and trying to go back to sleep and taking a pill each time. And we were gonna let her rest for a while, so she's been chilling for a few days.. So she's had like eight or nine over the course of three days. She's just gonna sleep for a while, don't worry." She explains and I sigh.

"I can live with that.." I look down at her, her rest still peaceful. "Why was she like this? Why did she.. _mourn_ like this? For me?" I can't stop myself from asking.

"That's just how she is. She doesn't just 'kinda' love you. When she falls in love, it's in deep." Raoul says. "When her mom died when we were in middle school, she fell apart the same way. She missed three weeks of school. We were still only friends at the time and I did my best to help her, but really, she just.. had to be sad. I.. presume it was the same when her dad died."

"Yes, except entirely alone." I nearly growl, but I hold myself in check.

"Yeah.. I thought she'd still have all our friends. I was wrong." He admits, and I forgive him, just a little. If he feels regret for his actions, how can I hold it against him? He seems.. changed, from what I knew of before and after.

"And how did she recover?"

"Slowly. Painfully. She never seemed to forget about her mom, never too far from her thoughts. But she got stronger every day. Kept going. Determined to live for her mom's sake, because she believed in Christine and always told her to persevere through hardships, and stuff like that. That's what she told me when we were kids, and that's what I told her to do for you."

"So she would have.. moved on, eventually? She would not have.. ended with me, if I had?"

"No. It would've sucked. But she'd keep going, I'm sure." He says with a touch of pride. Meg nods in agreement.

"She's a tough cookie." Meg says with the utmost seriousness. Darius snickers, at the expression, I assume.

"I'm glad, then. Have you managed to keep her fed, as you intended?"

"With how out of it she's been, she hasn't been able to eat a whole lot." Raoul says. "It's been easier to get her to drink."

"Thank god for protein shakes and smoothies." Meg adds, nodding.

"Good." I sigh. My Christine will be alright.

"I gotta ask though.." I wait for her to continue, but she just waits, thinking.

"What is it?" Daroga asks, and I remember that he is still here as well.

"What the heck is going on? With you? How are you not dead, and, uh, are you gonna stay around this time? The whole disappearing-reappearing thing is really stressful."

"I intend to stay. I would rather explain when all present are awake."

"Well, he may wish to wait to explain, but I do not." Daroga says. "Erik is free. We pulled the stunt with the news to create an alibi, both here and overseas. Legally speaking, Erik is dead. A proper ghost now, ah? This is so that, should any of his enemies from his past attempt to find him, they will find only a certificate of his end. He will have to stay secretive, but he is no longer confined to this house. The sensor is removed; he is free to walk the earth, on the condition that I act as his counselor and check up on him, oh, every other week or so."

"So he and Christine can be a real couple now, with no more murder mystery drama or whatever?" Meg asks.

"Drama there yet may be, but as long as _he_ behaves, it will not be over murder, no." Daroga jokes. I groan, blushing. At least the mask is on my side for that..

"Oh, good. Tell us about yourself, then." Meg says simply, sitting next to me, Raoul sitting next to her, both smiling for the first time since entering. Just like that, it seems, we are friends.

We chat, sometimes with great ease and other times with difficulty, until Christine wakes up, coming to know each other like I have never known anyone else before I met Christine herself..

C-

I wake up, once more, but no longer in Erik's arms or lap or even on the couch. From the darkness, I first worry that it's my room at Meg's place, and I did simply dream it all, but the fluffiness of the bed is too much to be Meg's. All their mattresses are _firm_. This, this bed is like sleeping on fabric jello. It can only be Erik's.

My head feels clearer than it has in what feels like weeks to me, but I remember Erik said it'd only been _days_. Either way, I'm grateful for the fog to have cleared. I feel incredibly empty in the hungry kind of way, and I can hear voices and music and I smell something amazing, so I try to scoot myself out of bed. The scooting part works. The standing part, however, does not.

I have to lean against the wall for a long minute, my dizziness from before returning. What on earth did I _do_ to myself? I'm sure someone out there knows, so I wait for it to pass, or lessen, and then I carry on.

What I see when I emerge from the blackout curtains is nothing short of magical. There, in the kitchen, are five of the most interesting people in the world, all of whom I arguably love, even Mr. Khan, who remains an enigma. Erik is talking over a skillet and a pot, which explains the amazing smell. Everyone else, Raoul, Meg, Darius, and Mr. Khan, stands by or leans on a counter or wall, listening or commenting. Then they all grow quiet, except Erik, who keeps explaining something about the skillet.

With a flick of his wrist, something flies up, out of the pan, and then safely back down, which everyone applauds. Is he making pancakes? Or, more correctly, flapjacks? It's so amazing to see him surrounded by people, supportive people, rather than attacked, or alone. And he smiles, too, which I see as he turns around to put his creation on a previously formed stack. And then he spots me.

"Christine!" He cheers, smile ever wider.

"Erik." I smile back, just as enthusiastic if far quieter. He nearly drops the skillet, placing it in the sink as he moves around the counter with long strides, arms out. I can barely take another step before he's whisked me into a hug, spinning us around. I can't help but laugh, and so does he. I forget how tall he is, sometimes, holding me a solid foot off the ground.

"I made breakfast." He says.

"I can see. And you made friends."

"Ah, well, it's hard to dislike such charming friends of yours, and I thought it would be pertinent to be friendly, and here we are. Are you hungry?" He asks, shifting me so an arm is under my legs, the other around my back. It looks like he has no intent on putting me down, and I am perfectly fine with that.

"Yes. Yes, a lot." I nod.

"Good. We can tell you the story while we eat."

And they do. I am overjoyed to hear that Erik is free, if a little disconcerted that he's legally dead. Nadir- who insists I stop calling him Mr. Khan because it makes him feel old- confesses his condolences we can never properly marry, if we wanted to, but thinks we'll make it work. I don't really care about a wedding at this point, just too happy to know that he's alive and well and he can stay forever. Or we can run away, for real, although we wouldn't be on the run from anyone. We could just go, wherever, do anything, just together. As long as Nadir knows about it, and can visit or call once every couple of weeks, that is. But even that doesn't seem like any kind of imprisonment, not compared to a life of crime and then a life of house arrest. This is the freest Erik has ever been, and he wants to spend it with me.


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13:

((I changed my mind. i'm not done. don't know where this is going but i felt like we needed more closure, more talks, more.. stuff. shrug. see if you like it!))

C-

We all chat for a long time, eating the breakfast Erik made, figuring things out, just reconnecting in new ways. It's so utterly charming how well he's getting along with Meg and Raoul, and so sweet how well they're reacting to him. I knew Meg would be okay with him, but Raoul? I'm not sure we ever told him Erik wore a mask, but he doesn't seem at all surprised or off-put.

And yet, despite the glow of friendship that my five companions give off, I can't seem to join in. I think, at first, that I'm still just sleepy, but as the vestiges of sleep do drift away to full awareness, the sort of social lag remains. I feel, instead, a growing glow of something else, something.. unhappy. I try to ignore it, and just be glad and satisfied that we're all here and safe and alive, but it refuses to go unheard. I wonder if I'll explode from trying to keep it in when Meg says something.

"You gonna stay here, honey?" She asks, and I take a moment to realize she means me.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." I reply from the couch, from Erik's side, as she stands and gathers her things. Raoul follows shortly behind her.

"Well, I gotta go. Mom's probably worried and I think you could use some alone time." She winks, but she doesn't mean anything gross by it. She flashes a peace sign, and Raoul waves with a small 'see you later' tacked on. Then, they see themselves out before any of the rest of us can do anything.

"Do you have anything more to say, Daroga? Now that it's just us?" Erik asks, a little suddenly. Nadir thinks on it for a moment, and then shakes his head, tufts of white hair fluttering slightly.

"No, I daresay I've done and said everything I need to, for the moment. You're in good hands, and I trust you won't do anything foolish on your first day free. Have you any questions for me, either of you?"

"None at the moment." Erik says, looking down to me. I shake my head. I'm sure I'll think of something later, but for now it's all I can do to keep my insides in with all the squirming of this unknown feeling.

"Ah, well, you can always call if you have questions. For now, my nephew and I should be on our way." Nadir says, and Darius groans, having finally settled into the couch. "Oh, come now, your mother will want to know what happened."

"Yeah, I guess." He grumbles, standing. Nadir, Erik, and I all stand as well, Erik and I walking behind Nadir as he and Darius head towards the front door.

"It's been most delightful to see you again, Christine. I look forward to meeting up with you in the future." Nadir dips his head as he says goodbye, disappearing behind the door to the shop, which Erik closes before turning to me. He stares at me, quizzically, a touch of concern in his eyes.

"What's wrong, Christine?" He asks, incurious, like he already knows. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything, opting to shake my head. Erik takes a step towards me, hands out. "I know something's wrong, Christine. Please." The feeling I've been trying to squash bubbles up, unhappy and loud. I swallow hard, and meet Erik's eyes again. He's nervous, but steadfast.

"I don't know." I answer him honestly, but I look down. I don't know where this conversation will go if I don't even know what's wrong.

"What are you feeling?" He steps forward again, hands still out and open and almost in reach. I could reach out and take his hands with just a stretch, and I want to, but I feel held back. Why? What's keeping me from being happy in what _should_ be a happy moment? What's _wrong_?

"I'm angry." I state without thinking, and I realize it's true. That bubbling miasma is _anger_ , the deep and dark kind that hides and makes you think you aren't angry, until you have only the tiniest reason or excuse to be, and then you know you always were, and so badly so. "I'm angry, Erik. Because you.. you made me leave. And that hurt. A lot. And then you left, and it _hurt_. But I thought at least you were safe somewhere, and then you- I thought-" I can't finish those thoughts, can't trace the lines of ideas through to a complete form, throat closing. It's too much to think about, too much to put into words.

"I'm sorry. I know, I know what I did, and I am so very sorry, Christine." Erik says, his own voice tight and awkward. I manage to look up to find his eyes are wet, behind the mask. I fumble, for a moment, internally, and then take a step forward, opening my arms as I do so I can fall into his. We pull together and I feel safe, head tucked under his chin, arms around his back, his around mine. Safe, yes, but angry, still.

"I'm sorry.. I don't want to be mad. I want to be happy that you're alive. I mean- I am, I so _very_ am. Am so very? Whatever. I am so very, very glad that you're alive. But I'm also- it still _hurts_." I say. I feel his fingers pull through my hair while he breathes hard, thinking, probably.

"You have _every_ right to be mad, Christine. I hurt you. By sending you away, knowing full well how you'd been left or discarded by those you loved and trusted before. It is- I was _wrong_. I thought I was protecting you, but I was wrong, and I did not realize until it was _much_ too late. So, please, be angry. I would not ask you not to be."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, after a moment of thought. "Wouldn't that have been easier?"

"Yes.. And no. To tell you would have been to remind myself, and admit to you, all the reasons I am unworthy of any of this. But it would have spared us both much heartache and you an attack from my... Oh, I was foolish." He sighs. "And my error resulted in you getting hurt by those.. those _fiends_." He snarls, pressing further into my hair. "I practically sent you to them with a ribbon and a note that reads 'attack me'. Heaven help me."

"I put up a fight, you know. I stabbed a guy." I tell him, and he pauses. "With my key."

"I shouldn't have expected anything else. You are a survivor, Christine. A warrior." He chuckles, surprised but not.

"That doesn't.. freak you out?" I angle my head so I can look up at him, just a little.

"I've seen and done and had done to me much worse than that, if that's what you're asking. If you mean am I disturbed by your ability to defend yourself, or the ferocity or the apparent violence with which you did, then no, I am not. I could not fault you for any of these. I'm actually rather enamored with it, truth be told." I can't think of anything to say to that, so I go back to thinking, digging my hands in the fabric of his vest, rough and tight and new. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, Christine."

"It's.. it's not fine, but it will be. Like a lot of things, I understand why you did it. And it makes sense. I might have done the same thing, too. I'm still- it still just hurts. It aches, like a bruise. I thought it had gone away but.." I shake my head, my nose rubbing against the front of his shirt, running into a button.

"I'm sorry." He can only seem to repeat. "Can you forgive me? I would.. I would understand if you couldn't."

"That's the thing. I already have. I understand, and I'm.." What am I feeling? Do I even know? "I'm not really _mad_ anymore. It just still hurts. How quickly everything _changed_. We went from being the most fine we'd ever been to _over_. In an instant. And you.. it was so quick, Erik, I can't.. Was it so easy? To push me away?" Almost an answer in itself, Erik pulls away, hands gripping my arms fiercely.

" _No_. It was a small hell to do it- and it was _not_ worth it." He stares at me intently, leaning ever so slightly so that he's not looming over me, still and so very _sure_. He speaks with a fire, a burning glare in his words, and his voice somehow knifelike, each syllable piercing the air. "These past months- all I could do was think of what went wrong, where I misstepped. That was it. That moment.. I regret it- _so_ dearly. The moment in which I decided to end it for your safety's sake was the moment I nearly doomed you and I both. I have been damned a long, long time, Christine, but I would cast my own soul to hell if my actions led to you being.." The fire suddenly goes out. He melts from that fearsome shadow I saw on that last night into the man I more commonly know. The soft one, the careful, cautious, caring one. "I can't express how _stupid_ I know myself to be, Christine. And I am so sorry. I know where I went wrong, and I will not let it happen again. Please, be angry, be hurt, and I will take it all, but know that it was the most regrettable thing I have ever done, and that it will never, ever happen again." He ends, sighing.

"Hey.." I say, craning forward, still pinned in place by his surprisingly strong hands. I put my face as close as I can to his, trying to get him to look at me. After a moment, I succeed, Erik lifting his eyes ever so slowly to mine. "It'll be okay. I do forgive you. I just want you to stay. And I am.. scared you'll leave again, but I want to trust you. I mean, I do trust you, I want to _believe_ you, because sometimes those aren't always the same thing. Just.. show me, okay? And talk to me? Don't.. you can't decide things about us like.. like that without me. It's not good for either of us, or 'us' us. You know?" I ask, and he nods.

"Communication is key. Didn't you tell that to me?" He grins, a little sadly.

"I probably did." I smile, not sad at all. "I am glad you're back, though. I missed you a lot. A lot." I pull him into a hug again, the weight of the previous moment dissipating, just a little.

"And I, you. I saw you.. you took care of the garden, while I was away." His voice, while cheerier, still seems heavy. I guess he was worried about his garden. I would be too.

"I couldn't stand the thought of your hard work, your sanctuary dying. I did my best, and, as usual, google helped immensely for the things I couldn't quite remember."

"You did a marvelous job. Everything is still quite alive, even as autumn is falling."

"You taught me pretty well." I murmur, remembering all the conversations, the lessons, bent over pots and dirt and plants. I remember dinners and lunches under the magnolias, I remember embraces and smiles and jokes and laughs. I remember smiles, and I feel much better.

E-

I can't seem to remember holding onto her like this before, like air to a drowning man. I'm trying to hide it, of course, but it's true. I was so certain, from the moment I stepped foot in that car without her, I'd never see her again. But here we are, and I can still scarcely believe it. When she was still asleep this morning, though she was in my arms, it may as well have been a dream for how _clear_ this moment feels, how real and certain and true. And I cannot fathom trying to leave her again. I missed her dearly, desperately, those months away, incarcerated, but I don't think I missed her more than when I knew I could come home to her. Now we're here, together, and I worry that we're distant, somehow, in a new way. A way we were never plagued with even when we were strangers still.

So I just hold her tightly, here, in my dim kitchenette in my dusty studio, happy just to be here. And I remember all the times I've held her before, going backwards in memory until I land on the first time. More than half a year ago already. How awkward we still were, ginger and new to each other! But our lunch, our first lunch under the magnolias- and what were we even talking about? It was important, wasn't it? She was hurt by something, so it must have been important. And I held her, and let her cry, and wanted to cry with her, she was so pained, and there, in _my_ arms. Just like she's here now.

Our embraces became so common after that. I needed only offer my open arms and she'd be there, and I soon learned the same could be true in reverse. Why does this moment, then, feel so much like that first time? New and uncertain and strange? Almost as tense as our last.. that terrible, perfect moment in the dark of the square, out in the open, together, but for what we both thought was the last time..

"Christine?" I ask. She turns her head upward to face me.

"Yes?"

"Can we.. that is, might we do something?" Am I brave enough to ask it? Am I brave enough to _do_ it?

"Depends on the something, I guess. What is it?" She asks with curiosity, a light smile playing across her face.

"Might we go outside? Together? I've never- the last time, we- I've never seen the shop from outside before-" I start and stop again, unsure how to express all the small reasons I want- _need_ \- to go outside with her. She smiles widely, giggling slightly. I think she understands, somehow.

"I'd love to." She responds, and pulls me by one hand down the shop stairs, past the counter, to the front door. I am so glad she does this, for while I desperately wish to stand outside, a free man with the love of his life like any other man might, I know that I don't quite have the strength to take those steps first, myself. There is too much fear built into these bones for me to ever live under that freedom on my own. It's hard to see the shop littered with dead plants, what was once an oasis in this city now just as dead and defeated as the concrete, but I am pulled along too fast to dwell on it. Christine unlocks the door, the world outside a misty blue-green of slight shadow cast by the distant, setting sun, and steps outside, pulling me with her.

Out on the sidewalk, in the shadow of the sun, freely so for the first time in all my adult life.. I'm not sure what I feel. I do feel free, feel unhindered, unchained, unbound, in all senses. I could run, I could walk, or bike or drive _anywhere_. I no longer have to look over my shoulder in fear of old foes, though I am definitely skittish of forming new ones. There's no one on the street right now, but that will not always be true, will it? Will it be easy to walk with Christine in daylight? No, assuredly not. But will it be worth it?

I look down at her, breathing hard, almost unbelieving that I'm _here_ , and free, _free_! She beams at me, but there is a touch of sadness in her eyes. The deep, hollow kind that consumes your heart, the kind that haunts her so easily, and tortures her so much.. The kind I fear I cannot soothe.

"Christine? What's wrong?" I had guessed before that she was more than unhappy with our last few conversations, namely the one where I tried to banish her from my life, but now? Now, I haven't the faintest idea. Is it more of that hurt? Have I done something new to cause this? Is it an old ache revisiting her, unknown to me but familiar to her?

"I just.. I know I asked you to stay, Erik, and I really, really want you to, but I just.. The look of you, out here for the first time.. You could go anywhere. Do and be anything. You're so talented and smart and there's so much you can and should go out and experience!" She laughs, gesturing, it seems, to the very world. "And I want you to! More than anything! I just.. I realized that if I asked you to stay with me, forever and always and whatever, I was asking you to stay in a cage with me. And I can't ask you to do that. Of _course_ I can't do that to you, not after you just got out of a different, lliteral cage! God.. I just.. You should go. Out there, out _here_ , and be whatever you want to be, not what _I_ want you to be.." The smile fades to a sort of grimace, and the ache transparent in her is too much for me. I feel tears roll over the edges of my eyes, and, fearful but feeling too much to ignore it, I remove my mask to free them. She looks up at me in awe and surprise, but not fear. She is, somehow, not afraid of me. And if she is not afraid of me, I cannot find it in myself to be afraid to move forward. I set my mask down on the window sill, and take Christine's hands in my own, almost too teary to speak.

"Christine. I want nothing more than to be with you, wherever you should go. It's true, I could very well walk from this city and this life and start over and be or do anything, and I might well find happiness in that new life. But it would be _nothing_ compared to the joys of knowing you. Of this I am certain. I want to be your happiness, or, or even a fraction of it, if I can manage that much. I want to be here, with you, because I love you more than I thought any single creature could love, let alone _be_ loved this much." My voice wavers so much, so faint at some parts, and too breathy in others, but I hope it shows her how _true_ the words are for me. How true and real _she_ is to me.

"But I don't want you to be stuck! I'm stuck here, but you don't have to be, Erik! I don't want you to, to imprison yourself for me _again_! I mean, _god_ , you broke your contract or whatever to save me, _knowing_ it'd mean death or life in prison! I can't ask that _again_."

"You don't have to ask, Christine. You are my freedom. You are _my choice_. I _choose_ to stay with you, Christine, and that is the most meaningful choice I have ever been given." She looks up at me, dumbfounded, uncomprehending. Her lips shake with unseen emotion. "To- to choose you is to choose to keep going. To choose life, and hope, and light in the dark. My life was primarily shadow before you, graced only by those faint glimmers that are the dear Daroga and his family, but you, _you_ , Christine, are the one who brought me _into_ light. I have hope, I have reasons, I have _dreams_ again, Christine, because of you. I choose those things, and I choose you. Does this.. is that of any sense?" I laugh shortly at myself, wondering if I have, perhaps, gone too far? She sniffs, and grips my fingers with her hands.

"I feel that, a lot. It- I- I didn't know-" She stops, her face both pained and elated. "I thought, I thought I'd be a trap to you now. I don't want you to be stuck."

"I'd be stuck with you any day, my dear." I shake my head, looking down at her. What an impossible girl she is, to think of me so. I love her for it, though, and I couldn't imagine or dream her any differently.

"And I'd choose to be stuck with you, too. You don't feel like a cage. You feel like.. like freedom." She nods, her tears finally bubbling over. She switches between obviously laughing and sobbing, settling eventually on the latter. "Do you really think of me like that? Do you really.. me? In all the world, of all the people.. me?" I almost die, right here and now, hearing that. Does she doubt herself so much?

"Christine.. Look at who you're talking to. I'm not exactly.. ideal. You've spoken _my_ _exact thoughts_. I.. can't understand what you see in me. You are _perfect_ , and I am.. well, me." She gasps, indignant.

" _You're_ perfect! I'm so.. average. You're talented and smart and cool and you know so much and you've done so much and you have so much potential- what am I next to that? I'm-" She shakes her head, and I take the opportunity to speak up.

"The most kind and caring and thoughtful person I've ever known. You are selfless and passionate and dedicated, _and_ smart and talented, too. You do things and say things I can't understand, because they are purely for other people, Christine, and I am purely selfish. Do you understand how.. intoxicating you are? How utterly delightful you are to be around? You _care_ so much, about everything, and everyone, even someone like me, and you choose to _stay_ with me? Me? When I look like this? When I've done terrible things, and to you- especially to you? You are _impossible_ , Christine, and I adore you for all that you are." I could write symphonies about her, and, truth be told, I've already started, though that's neither here nor there. Christine sighs, shaking her head again, blonde hair ruffling.

"What you look like doesn't matter, and you did all those terrible things because other people did terrible things to you, and probably worse. You walk so carefully around everything, making sure everything is okay before you act, always thinking of other people, too! You put everyone else above yourself and it's not fair, because no one ever put you first, and you still turned out so sweet, and caring, and if that's _selfish_ of you.. I don't understand the world."

"I don't understand it either." I sigh. How did we get so close together? Her face is nearly next to mine. How does she not recoil? How is she not disgusted? Afraid? How is she so.. fine with what I am? Her eyes are fixated on mine, neither of us able to break away, and I almost forget what I am, lost in her eyes.

"All I know is I love you. Sometimes nothing else makes any sense, and sometimes, even that doesn't make sense, but it's always true." She says, eyes suddenly wide, but earnest. Bound together like this, peering endlessly into each other, I have no choice but to believe her, and new tears try to form. I shut them down, blinking. I have to tell her what I'm thinking, damn it. She needs to know-

"I love you, Christine. I've never loved anything, before, except possibly flowers and music, but I love so much _more_ since I started loving you. I do believe, in some ways, that you made me a person by giving me this."

"But I didn't- You were always a _person_ , Erik.." I shake my head, though.

"You must understand: I was simply alive before, Christine. I met you, and you finished what Daroga started. Your kindness, your caring, made me _feel_. Brought me to life! Made me hope and dream and _love_ \- and what it _is_ , to love, my dear, compared to that emptiness before. I am so much _more_ , now. I wish I could show you.. I wish you could feel what I feel, what you've given me.."

"Gosh, I.. I'm not that _special_.."

"You are to me." I manage to say. I wish I had the language to describe all that she is, but she is wordlessly indescribable to my feeble mind.

"Oh, you cheesey nerd." She sighs, but she smiles, blushing heavily. Her whole face turns raspberry pink, eyes nearly closed as she grins. "You know, you're special to me, too. You.. After Raoul and a couple other similar instances, I kinda gave up on finding anyone. I thought, 'I'm unlovable. No one wants me, because I can't give them what they want, and I can't keep someone in a relationship like that when I make them unhappy, and the chances of finding someone who's the same or doesn't care are too slim.'. I figured it'd be better for everyone if I just.. stayed single. No more heartache. And I was happy enough, single. It wasn't a source of great unhappiness, or something. But I _was_ jealous. Of everyone who came through my life with someone special, who loved them unconditionally, and I wondered why I couldn't find that. And then.. you. You take me as I am, and that's enough for you. You say things like I'm more than just average, and that I'm pretty, and.. I have such a hard time believing it, but you make it so _hard_ to not believe you.. You make me feel.. not just loved but, but really _deserving_ of love. I haven't felt like that since.. since my dad. You make me feel.. really okay. Really really okay."

"I'm glad I could provide that for you. It's all I want." I murmur, genuinely pleased. If I can only improve her life.. it makes my existence worthwhile. I know that now.

"And all I want is to make you feel that way, too." She murmurs back, suddenly fierce before me, intent and focused.

"You do. I.. I am the most.. Everything I am, I.. You do so much _more_ than that." I finally manage, all my languages and every word incapable of explaining myself. That will have to do, but she seems content with it, and brings our hands to her lips. I step forward, to plant my face in her hair, the rough texture of it the most soothing thing I can imagine for this pained face of mine. "I know.. there will be difficulties, Christine. Not everything is healed so easily, but I want to share with you. My past, if you want to know. My.. deeds. I want no more secrets from me to come between us. I may have difficulty speaking about some things, but I will answer any questions you have. Anything at all. I want to make things right between us, and I believe that cannot be if I hide myself from you. Though this prospect frightens me, I trust you. I love you." I try to explain, and I feel her nod her head in understanding.

"I don't want to hide anything from you, either. It'll take time, I'm sure, to get back to the way things were, but I think.. I think we'll be better for it. I love you. This is- you're all I want." My heart surrenders to hers once more, hearing this. How much more can I love her? How much more of myself is there to give? But every moment is a new reason, a new hope and a new dream that comes to life. I love her, my Christine.


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14:

E-

"Hey, Erik?" Christine asks after a moment of reverent silence.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I don't wanna be a bother, and I don't want to be rude or intrusive or anything, I mean, I certainly don't want to just invite myself into your home after you _just_ got back but, uh.. Can I stay the night?"

"You want to stay with here with me? Tonight?" I ask, pulling myself out of her hair to look at her properly, our hands still bound to each other's forearms. She shakes her head to free her vision of her displaced hair, then nods at me.

"Yeah. I'm, uh.." She hesitates, looking down. I wait patiently for her to finish her sentence, nudging her gently to continue. "It's dumb."

"I sincerely doubt that, Christine." I give her arm a squeeze. "What is it?"

"I just don't want to ride across town and sleep alone and wake up alone and what if I have a dream and I think it's real and something even more dumb happens because I can't tell the difference between dreams and reality and I just don't want to leave you right now and we don't even have to go right to bed or anything-" She pause for a breath, and I take the chance to put my hands on either side of her cheeks, stilling her.

"You are more than welcome to stay for _any_ reason. My home is yours, if you want it. You could even move in, if you wish to. U-unless that's too forward, o-or simply improper, of course! I simply mean that _I_ do not mind at all." Christine cracks half a smile. I feel my cheeks warm. I detest how much and how easily I can fluster myself.

"You mean it?"

"Indeed. I would even prefer it, to have you close, tonight at least. You don't have to decide anything else tonight, or even soon."

"I would like to stay, then. Tonight at least, like you said." She beams again, skin wrinkling under her eyes. "But first, you wanna walk around for a bit? It's a nice night out.." I remember, suddenly, that we _are_ outside, and that, worse, I took my mask off. I look around as calmly as I can, which is not much. No one's here but what if there had been? Why did I- Well of course I did it for her but-

I feel the cool edges of my mask being pressed into my hands and I look down to see Christine's doing the pressing. She looks up at me with compassion, concerned. She says nothing, and I can't seem to think of anything either, so I take the mask and place it back on my face, where it belongs.

"I apologise.." I manage to say as I tie the ribbon, flattening my hair.

"You're fine, Erik. Well, I mean.. I understand. _Are_ you okay, though?"

"I am. I… forgot myself." For a blissful, dangerous moment, I really had forgotten exactly who and what I am, or, I suppose, what I appear to be.

"I'm kinda glad of that. You looked really happy." Christine says, putting a hand on my arm. My heart twists in my chest, feeling guilty though I know not what for. "We can go inside, if you want. There's always tomorrow for walks in the park." Ah, there it is. I crave to hide away again, to disappear into my home, safe and sound and separated, but I know she wants to walk. I want it too, but this time the want is not greater than the fear.

"I.. If you do not mind, I would greatly appreciate that, yes."

"That's fine." I have half a mind to try to power through the knotting anxiety in my stomach, but Christine is already tugging me by the arm, inside, to quiet and safety. I hold myself back from taking in an obvious breath of relief, though I do relish in the relief itself. My heart is pounding, restless and unsure, as though I were fighting for my life, when in reality I was only standing outside. Outside! Who knew this would be the most fearsome thing I could encounter?

Didn't I once roam wherever I pleased? Doing and taking what I needed to survive, careless of rules and boundaries and others' limitations? And now, now that I am absolved and free, I find myself afraid to do so again? How many times did I lust for the open air from behind my windows and fence? How often did I daydream of just stepping beyond the door? Now that I have, now that I _can_ , why am I so afraid?

I ask myself these things as we trudge up the stairs, mirthless. Did I ruin the light mood we'd talked our way to? Damn it, damn _me_. Things are supposed to be _better_ now. _Damn it_.

Christine turns as she tops the stairs, offering her hand again, smiling. Perhaps it's not as ruined as I thought.. I smile back, though the edges of the mask on my cheeks remind me that my expressions are once more hidden.

"So, what should we do?" Christine asks as I shut the door.

"Do?" I blink.

"Yeah. I'm tired, but I'm not sleepy. And I don't think you are either. I know you probably weren't expecting me, so you don't have any plans to entertain me, but was there anything you were going to do anyway? Anything at all?" She explains.

"I.. I was cleaning when you arrived this morning. Goodness, that was only this _morning_. Ah, anyway, it- it's rather dusty in here, from my time away. I was trying to remedy that."

"Then let's get to it!" She exclaims, suddenly very perky, and it feels infectious. I cannot help but laugh, thoroughly cheered by her mood.

"Very well. My queen commands.." I head over to the island, ducking down to open up the cabinets. Inside are my cleaning supplies, organized by type and usage. Just in front, however, are the glass cleaner, a couple towels, and the dusters, right where I hastily stuffed them to greet Christine. Reclaiming them now, I hand the cleaner and the towels to Christine. "I'll dust if you'll wipe off all the surfaces you can reach?" She grins, and I wonder if she's taking this too seriously, or if perhaps it's just the ecstasy of being together again that's getting to her, like it's starting to get to me.

"It's a deal." And she takes to the task with gusto. I chuckle at her enthusiasm, and get to my self-assigned task as well, using my considerable height to wipe down the numerous frames and lights and shelves in my studio. It's not a particularly difficult task, but there is much to do, and a heavy layer of dust has accumulated over the months. I'm nearly halfway done with one side of the room when I hear her.

She's _singing_.

Though she adores music as much as I do, I've only heard her sing a scant couple times, each one so small and timid and half-conscious. Now, she is purposeful, and confident, so sure of herself and her voice _rings_ with it. Those precious glimmers were truly blessings to my ears, but this, now, is infinitely _more_ in a way I can't quite describe. I stand stock still, barely breathing, trying to gauge if this is real. It certainly seems that way.

I force myself to turn away from the shelf to see her, to really _know_ this is real. There she is, cleaner in one hand, towel in another, singing as she works. _Singing_!

I gasp lightly when I realize I recognize the song. It's one of hers, but one of her favorites, one she played on special occasions before. 'It's a special song,' she'd said, 'and I feel like I have to really feel it when I listen to it.' She's about a fourth or a fifth of the way through, which means she only just started, and only just gotten her confidence up, or perhaps this means she's only now gotten _into_ the song, leading to the confidence. It's hard to say. But I know, as she sings, she does the song a great justice, regardless. I find myself wanting to join her. Her voice is so sweet, not quite smooth, but nowhere close to a husky sound, and the mixture is alluring to the ears. It's tempting in it's own way, drawing me out, asking- no- begging to be joined.

I want to, but do I dare? I know the words, I've even sung them before, though alone, but does she want me to? Would I be an intrusive force in her song, or a welcome partner? Her voice rings through the studio, the acoustics not quite fit for the performance, but somehow flattering anyway, and I feel the need to join in become overpowering.

I raise my voice to hers in the chorus, hers faltering for a second in surprise, but only for a second. Then she raises her own voice again, mixing with mine harmoniously, though I only act as a secondary, supportive sound. Her lead is perfect. We mix well together, I'm unspeakably pleased to say, and the song passes too quickly between us, our tasks completing at the end as well.

Breathless from either the chore or the singing or both, we've met somewhere between where we started, the last words lingering between us. Our eyes are met, our hands are matched, and I can't imagine anything other than the moment we're sharing. I can hear the instrumentals in my mind finally fade away too, until only the sound of our breathing fills the air.

"I didn't know you could sing like that.." Christine says eventually.

"I didn't know you could, either." I reply. "I knew you had talent but _that_.."

"But _you_ , your voice is, is.. amazing, perfect!" She exclaims, eyes wide and starry. I retreat from that, shrinking from the praise. I know the value of my voice, and I know it's power, but it's nothing compared to her and hers.

"It's nothing like yours, dear. You have quite a gift.. You have so many talents.." I shake my head, lost for a moment in her perfection.

"Oh, you.." She blushes with a quirky grin, looking away. "I guess it got the job done, though. Is there anything left to clean?" She half-jokes, still averting her eyes.

"We could probably scrub the floor, but I haven't the patience for it right now. We should.. probably strip the bed." I think. That's the next thing I can think of, anyway, and it's relevant to Christine's stay here tonight..

"Alright. Do you have a washing machine here?" She asks, setting the cleaner and soiled towels down on the island, fortuitously close-by. I set the duster down as well.

"I do. It's in that door by the stairs, there." I point. It's just before the door to the stairs to the shop, hidden away. The room is small and cramped, but functional. "But we don't have to worry about washing tonight. I have several spares. There's even a couple color choices. Do you have any preferences?"

"Not really." She shrugs, still smiling softly. She feels so.. alright in this moment, simply and utterly fine with everything as it is. "What kind of options do you have?"

"I have black, pink, and gold. And a gray, I think." It's been a while. What's clean and what isn't?

"I'd like pink or gold, I think. I don't really mind." When did she get so close, and when did her hands find themselves in mine? Could it be that we were always this way?

"If it's up to me, I choose gold." I nearly purr, too happy to find myself here, hands tight in hers, eyes locked with hers.

"That's okay with me." She murmurs back. She's so close, practically pressed up against me, face angled up towards mine, which is angled down to face hers. Masked, of course. Could I ever be this confident unmasked? So sure of myself with her? So close? I know that just a few moments ago, outside, we were this close, probably closer, and yes, unmasked, but why, then, does this feel so much _more_? I suddenly want very much to kiss her, to press my face to hers, lips locked tighter than any gaze could bind us. Can I be that confident, even masked? We're so close; it would not take much to make this impulse so. She's _so_ _close_ , her eyes fixated on mine, full like the moon and sweeter, far, far sweeter. "Hey." She whispers, her breath tangible on my neck and chin, harsh and soft at the same time.

"Yes?" I can only ask, heart spiralling.

"I love you." She says, and it's clear and solid and real and true, more real than anything I've felt before.

"I love you too." I say. And this, too, is more real than anything I've spoken before. I know it will be more and more true every time I say it.

"What next?" She asks. I blink. I don't know how to answer except to act. I remove my hands from the crooks of her elbows, placing my too-wide palms on the curve of her jaw, and close the space between our faces, kissing her. Lost in the feeling of my pounding heart and her soft lips, my eyes close. I'm not sure why this simple act is so important, why it felt so necessary, or why it feels so _satisfying_ , but it is. It feels so _right_ to be here, pressed against her, close and happy and dear.

Although, now here, goal accomplished and desire fulfilled, I'm not sure what to do, so I pull away the slightest bit, our lips just grazing each other. With my eyes still pulled shut, I can _feel_ her smile.

I'm not certain why, but I start to shake, everything alight with nerves and a quaking, racking sense of fear.

"Erik?" Christine breathes, steadying me. "What's wrong?" What, indeed. Everything was- is- perfect, so why is this happening?

"I.. do not know. I didn't think- I wasn't sure-" My thoughts fumble, form, and die before I can identify or address them. "I don't know." I open my eyes and let my hands fall to her shoulders. She searches my eyes, for what I don't know, but this, too, keeps me steady.

"It's okay. You're okay. I'm here." I nod.

"You are." I take a deep breath, wishing I had a better way to silence the sick feeling of unease. "I think.. I keep expecting something else to go wrong, and nothing has, and hopefully nothing will, but it's an.. unexpected, unanticipated- I've never had anything as good as this- I don't want to ruin it, but I am very afraid, Christine. And I've never-" Heaven help me, I can't even finish the sentence, only shaking my head.

"That's okay. I mean.. it's understandable. But I'm here for you." She says. She's so worried, I can see, and for me, and I have nothing to be acting like this over. It was such a _good_ moment, and I've gone and ended it, haven't I? I suppose in lieu of an external conflict to address, my mind went and _made_ one for me. Or perhaps I was more nervous about kissing her than I thought. I am so _inexperienced_ with all this. With happiness, with love. My heart aches; was I always this emotionally frail? Have I burdened her with my limited heart and soul?

"I think that was a brave thing to do." Christine's voice breaks through my internal self-interrogation.

"Pardon?" I tilt my head, caught completely off guard.

"Sometimes it's really, really scary to do things like that. And I guess, with all this uncertainty, you being back for the first time in months anyway, I was too afraid to try anything myself, and I didn't want to make it awkward by asking, so.. I don't know. I think that was brave of you. Does that make any sense?" She explains.

"Yes, I think I understand." It weighs on me immeasurably that we were caught in the same quandary, but that _I_ was the one to do something about it. "So, you wanted- with me?"

"Only a lot. But I didn't know what your boundaries are or if it was, uh, appropriate, I guess? I mean, you just got back from a three-ish month involuntary vacation and we hadn't seen or heard from each other in all that time and I guess I still feel kinda nervous about everything but I'm so _glad_ to see you and I want you to know, I mean, I wanna show you how much I missed you and care but I don't want to, like, overwhelm you or something so I'm- I'm really glad you did that, I guess.. I'm not sure I had much of a point there..". She rambles in her typical nervous fashion, sighing at the end. My heart continues to twist under her words, their meaning, how impossible this all still feels. It aches, but how I love it so.. "And, _of course_ with you. You're the one I love, after all. It'd be a little weird to me if I _didn't_ want to kiss you." I chuckle, a bit awkwardly.

"It's still so strange to try to wrap my mind around, to try to comprehend the truth of the situation. I'm _me_ , after all. No one- this is foreign territory, Christine. I am a stranger to this. I am.. I'm trying to understand. I am." I attempt to sound reassuring, but it comes across as _pleading_ to me, and I am ashamed to say that my trembling has not yet stopped, or even slowed. I feel that I must be clinging to Christine, clutching at her existence like mine will crumble away to dust if I stop. I stand hunched over her, a feeble man liable to break at any moment. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't be. This is- it's normal. It's okay. You have nothing to be sorry _for_. I'm just.. so glad you're here at all. There doesn't have to be anything more than that, tonight, or- or ever, really. We just gotta be true to what we're feeling, alright? So.. so what do you feel like?" She presses forward, stretching up to be closer, our noses, mask or otherwise, bumping.

"I feel.. incredibly lucky to love you. I wish.. I suppose I wish only to hold you, for now, and try to remember that this, and you, are real." I feel so very tired, now, emotionally exhausted. Christine smiles, her cheeks entreating on her eyes.

"Then that's all we've gotta do for now. If you're tired, we could go to bed, or even just sit on the couch. Or just stay here. I don't mind it any way." She says, and I see tiredness in her eyes, too, in the way they've cooled, so to speak.

"If you are tired, bed is not an unwelcome idea to me either. We will have to change the sheets for you, though."

"For us."

"P-pardon?" I pull away a bit, startled.

"Change the sheets for _us_. I'm not letting you go, you goof. And we both know nothing's gonna happen, so there's no concern for propriety."

"I- you want to share the bed?" My confusion escalates. What on earth does she mean?

"Yeah. Unless you don't want to. But it'd be nice to sleep together, don't you think?"

"I- I apologise if this sounds strange, but I must ask- is this a _normal_ behavior?" She blinks at me, expression souring with her own confusion.

"What, couples sharing a bed?" She clarifies, and I nod, embarrassed to not know. From her expression, I think it _is_ a common, normal behavior, and simply one I never got to observe. "Uh, yeah. Fairly common. Here, I mean. I guess I don't know about other countries..". She shrugs.

"I will assume it is elsewhere, then. I'm sorry- I had never considered- didn't think-" I shrug, at a loss for how I failed to know this thing. I thought two people did not share a bed under any socially acceptable circumstances except to.. procreate. The thought of it as common practice, and only to _actually_ sleep never occurred to me. Ever the graceful one, Christine seems to think nothing of it.

"You wanna try it?" It takes a moment to apply the new concept to the reality of our situation, which is, by itself, already confusing and strange. Still, the thought..

"I.. yes. Yes, I think I would." I give a nod. I am rather tired, and the idea of holding her even in sleep is a powerful one. To fall asleep with my arms around her..

"Then let's change those sheets." Christine starts to pull away and for a moment, I panic. Why would she ever pull away? Does she want to leave after all? Have I _done_ something? I am ashamed to admit that I seize her by the shoulders, afraid to lose her. I can only stare nearly blindly at her, eyes wide with fear as shadows flood my vision. I hear all my doubts echoed back to me, mockingly, shoving all rational thought away from my mind. I'm shaken from the moment after Christine says my name several times, the lines of her eyes heavy with concern. I release her shoulders in a panic, deeply worried that _I might have_ _ **hurt**_ _her_.

"I- I'm sorry-" I start, but that fear still constricts my throat.

"Hey, hey." Christine pulls me closer again, arms around my back. "Don't be sorry. Or, uh, I guess you can be sorry, but I already forgive you, okay? This is- This has been a _weird_ goddamn day. We don't have to do anything. I won't let go if you won't, okay?"

".. I do not want to." I admit. "But how can we fix the bed if we can't move? I'm being irrational- this is- I'm not-"

"Hey. I'm gonna keep saying 'hey' until you relax. So.. hey." She gives me a pointed look, and I take a moment to breathe, releasing some of my tension. It does feel better than holding it in.. "You can feel things. That's _great_! I'm.. I'm actually really glad for it. Even if we get stuck sometimes, I'd rather we got stuck because we're feeling a lot things rather than stuck on nothing."

"I think you are being exceptionally considerate, but I do agree with you on that point.. It does little to solve the issue of the bed, however." I say, my voice dripping with tiredness, but Christine just shrugs.

"We could just _not_ change the sheets." I give a tiny gasp.

"It's been _months_!"

"So? No one's been sleeping in it."

" _Regardless_ , you are meant to change them every _week. How-_ how often do _you_ change them?" I would squirm, if I were not so drained.

"Uh.. every few months? When I remember to?" She gives an awkward grin, shrugging. "Aha.." I'm not sure how to react but to sigh and shake my head.

"If you do not mind it, then my fastidious nature will survive a night, I think." I try to smile, compromising. I'm getting too tired to care or do anything about it anymore anyway.

"Alright. If you're sure." Christine says, giving me a moment to rescind the statement, but I nod. I'm certain. "Alright then. You take the lead?" Again, I only nod, unsure what to say. I find her hands behind my back and hold them dearly, taking her arms from around me. Then, as she lead me earlier, I guide her to my dark corner of the studio, pulling back the black curtains for us, remembering to hit the lights. Christine kicks off her shoes, and she takes the initiative then, climbing in under the covers without hesitation, but I do.

I've never shared this sort of space with anyone before, and though I trust Christine with my life, and am more than comfortable being close to her at any other time, the new element throws me off. Not to mention some of the associations of 'the bedroom' that neither of us are comfortable with. Then again, as she said, nothing like that _would_ happen between us, for that very reason. I trust her. I want this.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, and regretfully freeing my hands of Christine's, I untie my own shoes and remove my socks, placing them next to hers. Then, with one last moment of hesitation, I left my legs over the edge, and turn to face her.

In the dark, I'm not sure she can see me, but I can see her. I don't know why, but my vision is nearly as good in the dark as it is in the light, something many but not most people can claim. I watch her eyes search through the dark, landing on nothing. She reaches out, and I put my hands in hers' path, fingers quickly intertwining. But she doesn't stop there, wiggling closer to me, until we're face to face again, just inches apart.

"How's this feeling? Not too much?" She whispers.

"No, this is.. perfect." I whisper back. In truth, I would very much like to remove my mask, but I do not want to untangle from her again. I'm also uncomfortable with the idea of her seeing my face _again_ today, just in case she _can_ see. But otherwise, yes, it's perfect.

"Okay." She says, and nestles a little closer. "And this?"

"Somehow _more_ perfect." I chuckle. She hmms thoughtfully, and then reaches up, pulling my hands with hers partway, to put hers on my mask. I stiffen, but do not otherwise react.

"And if I were to do this?" She whispers, indicating her intent to remove it, and I can see her eyes searching for mine in the heavy darkness.

"It would be better yet." I admit, though fearful. "But I would not want to startle you.. come morning."

"I don't care." She reminds me. "Unless it bothers _you, I_ don't care."

"I.. I would like it, yes. If- if _you_ are certain." Not for the first time tonight, I put it in her hands. The decision is hers. For now, it must be.

Christine hums a positive note, a sound of confirmation. Slowly, she moves her hands from around the curved edge of the mask to the back of my head, where the ribbon is tightly knotted. She fiddles with it for only a moment before it comes loose, the porcelain sliding from my face the tiniest bit. I take in a short but deep breath as Christine then pulls the mask away entirely. I stop breathing, however, as she squirms her way even closer, her cheek flush with mine.

"And this?" She asks, the air from her lungs once more spilling across my face and neck.

"Utter perfection." I murmur, and wrap my arms around her, both over and under her, and I would pull her closer to me, if any closer she could be. She tucks her hands in between us, softly running her fingertips over my cheeks along the way. How gracious she is, so careful and tender and kind, always kind.

I feel safe, now, wrapped up in her like this. In the dark, in the quiet, only the sounds of our breathing like distant wind, and our pulses beating like rolling drums. I know I would do anything for her, and she, I. I know there's nothing we can't get through if we do it together, and I fully intend on being with her until the world tears us apart, one way or another.

Her breathing pans out into that of restful sleeping very quickly. I am envious of her ability to sleep so easily, even if it's not one she can necessarily control. Still, I am grateful to even _be_ here to witness her sleeping. And how beautiful she is when she is at rest. Relaxed and unafraid and so unrestrainedly happy. The look is much more scarce when she is awake,, though I am determined to make that statement false in time. If her every moment could be so simple and easy as this.. Ah, a good life I would live.

I watch her rest, trying to join her in dreams, letting that soft, untamed music play for me.


	15. PSA

Hey guys, long time no post! I'm super sorry about that, especially after I decided to continue writing Petals and Ink at all! Life got in the way, as it usually does, and you might be happy to know it's because I'm working illustration jobs and trying to pay off student loans!

However, that's not the point of this story interruption. No, unfortunately something a little sad has happened and I need to make an explanation of something.

Today (Sep. 1st, 2017), while at work, I got a review from a guest that explained someone was writing an idea much like mine and gave me the name to check it out. Well, check it out I did, and I quickly realized that, even so early in the fic, it was nothing like mine, really. I closed out the page and went back to work, thinking nothing of it.

Except when I got off work, a friend of mine on tumblr explained that, hey, their friend's been getting some pretty awful hate for writing a fic like mine! I was also messaged by the kind and amazing writer loudlewdlyricalmiracle on tumblr, who explained the situation from their end, and the situation is this: it was their idea first.

On chapter one at the very top of the page, I explain the inspiration for this silly idea I decided I needed to follow, though I didn't name names because I didn't think of it. Loudlewdlyricalmiracle is the inspiration for this fic. This was their baby first. They've stolen nothing from me, and I am so, so deeply sad about the hate they've gotten for the assumption that they did. If you follow me or them on tumblr, you'll hopefully have already seen the post I made there, but I want to reiterate it here, PERMANENTLY, that they did not steal my idea.

This AU was their idea first, and I got crazy excited about all the ideas popping into my head and rushed into a fanfiction based on it. LLLM has been working on their idea for months. In no way are our fanfictions related beyond the starting prompt, which is basically five words: tattoo artist/ flower shop AU. Please, please, PLEASE do not give LLLM anymore grief over this. I'm very grateful that people apparently jumped to my defense, but the aggression, the hate of it, is intolerable. I would never, ever in a million years ask for someone to hurt someone else for me. Please, that's not the way to handle things at all. Thank you for caring so much, but no thank you for the violent response, alright?

If you were a part of the aggression, I would appreciate it if you would apologize, anonymous or however. I can't accept that they've been put through this stress and anger on my behalf. It's not worth it, not to me.

Thank you for hopefully taking the time to understand this situation and apologize. I will be leaving this PSA here until I update again, though with my crazy schedule it's impossible to say when that will be. I will also have a shorter explanation on the next chapter, and it will remain there, forever, to mark what happened today, and it will hopefully prevent this from happening again. In the mean time, read LLLM's fanfiction, One Sweet Chance, and give them the love they deserve for the idea that was always theirs! I know that I am excited to read their full fic when I'm done with Petals and Ink, or if I decide to call it quits again.

Thank you, as always, for reading.


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